God And The Cum Dump

Most of my stories for Literotica have been BDSM romances with plenty of bondage and flogging and true love winning out in the end. Sometimes I make my characters piss on each other - but you can't get away with a lot of that in BDSM. So I thought I'd wander over here to Fetish and let the squickiness out for a comic romp. In addition to straight sex, anal sex, lesbian sex, and a couple of group scenes, this novelette features lots of cum eating, piss drinking, puking, a tiny dab of scat - oh yes, and some cracked theology. If such things don't float your boat, feel free to move along to another story. But if they do, then welcome! I hope you enjoy getting acquainted with Brenda, who, as our story opens, is twenty-six years old, God-fearing, and more or less respectable.

*****

1. I Lose

Me and Lester were playing Crazy Eights on the sofa and half watching

The Magnificent Seven

. I liked playing Crazy Eights with Lester. Well, I hated the card game itself, actually. It's a kid's game and really boring for grownups to play. What I liked about it was that I always lost.

Losing games turned me on - there was something about Lester's contempt, the flush of humiliation, the slightly sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. That night, for a bonus, I was losing at life, too. Just a few hours ago I'd been fired from my job as a dental assistant. Doctor Rosenberg had waited till five to let me know, making sure he got his money's worth right up till the end.

"You're a menace," he'd said. "I've never had such an incompetent assistant."

I thought it was harsh to call me incompetent. Those instruments look an awful lot alike, and anybody could have mixed up those little bottles.

Well, I was glad I still had Lester, even though he wasn't an exciting lover, and he spent a lot of his time pissed off because life had dealt him the kind of hand that gets you a crappy job stocking shelves down at the Target and a girlfriend like me. Not a head turner, not even cute, but a girl with mussy, mouse-colored hair and features sort of coarse - lips a bit thick, brow heavy, nose blunt, teeth big, hips too wide - and if I had to have wide hips, why couldn't I at least have big boobs, too? Mine were little, with below-average nips that didn't perk up all that much when I got excited.

Which I didn't very often when I was with Lester.

But if Lester wasn't a turn on, being kind of fat and not all that well endowed, if you know what I mean, and not smart or funny or interesting or successful, at least there was losing at Crazy Eights.

Losing that stupid game turned me on just enough that if Lester wanted sex after we'd played, I could give it to him and make it all right for him, more or less.

Lester was more pissed off than usual that night, even though he was winning game after game and

The Magnificent Seven

was one of his favorite movies. Maybe he didn't like it that my grievances were more grievous than his for a change, or maybe it was knowing I wouldn't be picking up as many checks as I used to down at the Golden Corral. Maybe he was having hassles at work. Whatever. I'd seen him pissed off plenty before, and I wasn't going to worry about it.

After a few games he said, "Why don't we play for stakes for once. Fucking put something on the

table

."

"What stakes, Les?" I asked. There was no way he was getting any of my money - I didn't have any to spare.

"If I win, I get to fuck you however I want. Same goes for you, if you win."

It was a relief he didn't want to play for money, but I said, "I don't know, Les." I was scared of anal. I'd never done it, and I just wasn't ready to go there tonight - not after the stressful day I'd had.

He rolled his eyes and said, "

I

know, no ass-fucking.

Jesus

."

"Well, okay, I guess," I said. Oral sex didn't bother me - I'd sometimes done it to help Lester get it up after he'd had a few beers - and vaginal sex is, well, vaginal sex. What other kind of sex was there, besides anal, oral and vaginal? I didn't think he was going to do anything scary or even interesting. He wasn't imaginative when it came to sex or anything else.

We played the game one more time, and of course I lost, and as I was sliding the cards back in the box I said, "What do you want me to do?"

"The deal was I do it to you," said Lester, standing. "You get to do fuck-all, like you always do."

That stung, but I got a little twinge down below, the way I always did when he insulted me. Actually, losing my job and all those games had left me pretty wound up.

Lester undid his pants, let them drop, and stepped out of them. He lowered his underwear. He was already starting to get hard, dick sprouting from rolls of fat, and he took himself in his hand and jerked off.

"Slide forward," he said.

Okay, then, oral. I wondered why he was making such a big deal out of oral sex. I slid to the edge of the sofa.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," he said.

"What?" I said. "Jerk off in front of me?"

"What's this,

wit

?" he said. "Open your fucking mouth." He put one pudgy hand behind my head and yanked me towards him.

I opened my mouth and he rammed into me, thrusting while he pulled my head, so deep I instantly lost it, and the beer and potato chips I'd had that evening came boiling up inside me and gushed out around his cock. Then he let me go.

I put my head down between my legs and added to the puddle I'd just made on the floor. I was so shocked I didn't know whether to get mad or cry or what. When I recovered a little I sat up and said, "Jesus, Les . . ."

"You're so fucking

boring

, Brenda," he said as he grabbed my head and rammed into me again. This time he didn't let go when my vomit soaked his pubic hair and cascaded over his balls, but just held on while I retched and retched, struggling but not strong enough to pull away.

He said, "I am so fucking

bored

, and so fucking

tired

of you," thrusting still harder.

I was thinking,

well, it's not like you're such a prize yourself

, but I couldn't say it with my mouth and throat full of cock and vomit.

He thrust with every phrase. "Talking to you is

boring

. Fucking you is

boring

. Your cooking is

boring

. Your music collection

sucks

."

My stomach was empty, just dry heaves now - my body was convulsing with them. But unexpectedly, with every heave, my stomach was sending out enormous waves of pleasure that washed through my nipples up into my neck, into my cheeks, and down through my gut to my clit and thighs.

Fucking my face, he said, "I am so tired of hearing about your fucking

church

. And I

so

don't care about your fucking

job

."

I'd begun to retch less. I was discovering I didn't absolutely

have

to throw up just because there was a cock deep in my throat. I recognized that wet feeling down below, too. I was turned on -

way

turned on. I was

alive

- the dry heaves, the bolts of pleasure shooting straight into my nips and clit, fuck, it all felt

wonderful

.

He said, "This is like the only thing I've ever done with you that's not boring.

THIS

- "

He thrust so hard here that my stomach gave another lurch, and I'd swear my pussy squirted.

" - is your goodbye fuck, Brenda. I'm fucking

done

with you."

Now he thrust and I retched with every word, making a weird harmony.

"You're - ugly - and - stupid - and - boring - and - we're -

done

!"

He held me tight against him, and his cum gushed into my throat - I felt the spurts deep inside, hot, thick, and nasty. He took a giant step back and to the left, just dodging the cum and bile I projectile vomited at him.

I put my head between my legs again and waited for my stomach to calm down. Lester scooped up his pants, underwear, and shoes, said, "Fuck you, Brenda," and went off to the bathroom.

I sat there, trying to get myself together enough to figure out how I felt about all this. I'd gotten as far as

fuck him, he's boring too

, when he came back into the living room, picked up the remains of the six-pack he'd brought over, said, "It suits you, being covered with puke," and headed for the door.

I managed to say, "Fuck you too, Lester," before he let himself out of my apartment and out of my life. How about that for a sharp comeback?

I was supposed to feel devastated, but I didn't. The fact is, I was more turned on than I'd ever been before. If losing turned me on, well, here was losing big time. I hadn't just lost my job and a few card games, but Lester had dumped me, and he'd done it spitefully, calling me boring, ugly, and stupid and fucking me in the most degrading possible way. I should have felt horrible, but I felt

great

.

My pussy was running like a faucet, and it was like my whole body was buzzing with energy. If I didn't get relief soon, I was going to explode.

I went to the bedroom. The bed was mussed, but I thought I'd better not lie on it, being drenched in puke. I got my favorite hairbrush from my dresser, laid on the floor, and masturbated as slow as I could, smelling the vomit all over me, remembering all that thick goo pumping into my throat, thinking about how it felt, that cock deep inside me, the gagging and puking, and Lester saying those awful things - but I couldn't draw it out. I came in probably less than a minute - a whole new kind of orgasm, hard and sharp.

I was still horny. I wanted a drink too, but Lester had taken the beer. Well, I was a grownup; I knew where to get alcohol. I went to the bathroom, stripped, and showered. I brushed my teeth, went back to my bedroom, and put on clean clothes - panties, a simple blue dress, flats. I brushed my hair, pulled it back, and fastened it with a barrette.

2. Toilet Blowjob

I headed out for Mickey's Tap, just a half mile down the street. It wasn't the kind of place you go to relieve your horniness, but it was a pretty good place to get a drink. Guys would mostly leave you alone, or at least they'd mostly leave

me

alone, and if they didn't, you could just sort of lift your eyebrows at Tony the bartender, who was a not-quite friend of mine, and he'd take care of the problem, usually without pissing anybody off.

I sat at the bar, ordered a Bud Light, and looked around the room. It was a slow night, a Thursday. There weren't many people here and they were all guys: two sitting a couple of stools apart at the bar, one lounging at a table watching something on TV with a cowboy booted foot up on another chair, and three talking together at a table. On any other night they'd just look like guys, but tonight they looked like guys with cocks, each of them capable of shooting a hot viscous load down my throat. My panties were damp. I wanted to stop thinking this way, but I couldn't.

I tried to sort out what, exactly, had made me so horny. Was it getting fired, the cock in my throat, the violence of the face-fuck, the puking, the cum, the insults, the getting dumped, or all of the above? And if I wanted to get this turned on again (and I

did

- it was totally amazing!) would I have to have all those things going on? I hoped not - it's not practical to get fired and dumped every time you want a decent orgasm, if only because you've got to find a job and a boyfriend first. These thoughts kept me busy till my second beer was gone.

I glanced down the bar at the guy sipping his beer about three stools away. He wasn't anything special, maybe about forty, bulky, wearing jeans and a blue shirt, overdue for a shave. But he looked strong, maybe a construction worker, and he had a

cock

- I couldn't keep the image out of my mind of him thrusting into my mouth, the cum spurting, splashing, choking me . . .

He looked around, straight into my eyes.

Oh shit

, I thought.

I do not need this

. And yeah, he must have caught that something in the way I was looking at him, because he hoisted himself off his seat, lumbered over to me, and said, "Your glass is about empty. Can I get you another?"

Tony was there quick as a flash, raising his eyebrows in a question: Want me to get rid of him? But I said to the guy, "Thanks," and gave Tony a reassuring smile.

Tony went off to get me my exotic brew, and the guy said, "I'm Dave."

I said, "You've got a wedding ring, Dave."

He glanced at his hand. It wasn't a wedding ring, but a band of light skin where the ring had been.

He chuckled nervously and said, "I guess I must have forgot to put it on."

I said, "You looking for conversation, Dave, or a bit on the side?"

He started to get up, saying, "Shit, you try to be friendly . . ."

I laid a hand on his arm and said, "Hey, sit down, Dave. It's okay. I just want to make sure we understand each other. I've had a hard day, and I'm not in the mood for bullshit."

Tony came with my beer, and Dave waited for him to set it down and move off.

He glanced at me cautiously. "Okay, Let's start with some conversation," he said.

"Wrong answer, Dave," I said. "My conversations today have not gone well, and I don't want any more of them. On the other hand, I haven't been able to think about anything but blowjobs for like the last two hours. Do you like blowjobs?"

He looked at me like he hadn't noticed me before. In about five seconds I'd gone from almost invisible to

fascinating

. "Yeah," he said.

"Well," I said. "I'm going to excuse myself and go to the ladies', because this beer you bought me is like my third. Why don't you wait like three minutes and then come on back? We're not going to be interrupted," I added, gesturing towards the room, where all the customers were still men. "I'll suck you off, and then you can go on with your beer-drinking without all the hassle of making conversation with a woman you don't know or give a fuck about. Sound okay?"

"Okay," he said, looking a little stunned. It wasn't hard to guess that this wasn't an everyday event in his life.

"I'm serious here, Dave," I said. "No bullshit. Don't be late."

I slipped off the stool and went back to the ladies', where I peed, wiped, and washed. At the exact moment when the electric dryer was shutting itself off, the door opened and Dave edged in, looking like he expected a SWAT team to come busting out of the stalls.

"Like I said, Dave, we've got the place to ourselves," I said.

He relaxed a little and said, "What's your name?"

"That doesn't matter, does it, now? Just like it doesn't matter that your name's not Dave. Because all I am is this girl that sucks off random men in bars - you don't put that kind of girl in your contact list."

I'd unbuckled his belt and was working on the catch that held his pants closed. Damn, those two beers felt good inside me. I felt like I could take on the whole town, or at least all the men in it. He was back to looking stunned.

I said, "You should thank your lucky stars that STDs are hard to transmit orally, 'cause there's no telling where a girl like me has been."

By now I'd managed to unzip his zipper and was on my knees in front of him, pulling his pants down. His cock made a satisfying bulge in his underwear.

I said, "Don't be gentle, Dave. I'm the kind of girl you just ram it into." I wrenched down his underwear and took his cock in my hand - it was already nice and hard - and jerked him off a few times. Then I leaned forward and let him slide into my mouth.

There was a moment of shock as the warmth of his flesh on my lips brought home to me the reality of what I was doing - I'd been a nice girl just minutes ago, upright and God-fearing, and now I was sucking off this total stranger in the toilet at Mickey's Tap.

And then the amazingness of it hit me right afterwards. I'd picked up this guy! I didn't know who the fuck he was! I was sucking him off! I'd never picked up a guy before! I'd never sucked a stranger's cock! It was a nice one, too - way better than Lester's! This was great!

I pushed into him, trying to take him deep, but he backed away from me a little. Annoyed, I looked up at him and let his cock fall out of my mouth. I said, "Are you being a

gentleman

, Dave? Afraid of making me gag?"

"I . . ."

"Don't be a

gentleman

, Dave," I said. "Take my head in your hands and fuck my face."

He put his hands on either side of my head and tentatively, almost tenderly, pushed his cock into my mouth - deep and then deeper, breathing hard with excitement. I told myself I wasn't going to gag, wasn't going to throw up, and his cock slid right past the place that Lester had hit to make me puke - and there he was, all the way in with his pubic hair tickling my lips and nose, and I felt like Wonder Woman, totally in control of this guy.

Only I wasn't. Or the way I was controlling him was by making him take me over, if that makes any sense. He was pushing harder and faster now, holding my head in place with confident hands. He wasn't thrusting as hard as Lester had done, not yet, but he was getting into the joy of the moment, doing this thing that his wife would never in a million years let him do, and he was starting to forget I was there. I mean, I was there as a hole for him to put his dick in, but not a thinking, feeling person that he was supposed to care about.

His hands were sliding around to the back of my head so he could pull me harder, and he was thrusting deeper and faster, grunting with the effort, his body moving reflexively, and his mind was off in space somewhere while his body moved, till finally he groaned and spasmed and filled my mouth and throat with cum. I spluttered and choked because he was shooting way in the back of my mouth, but I managed not to puke.

He took a step back and looked at me, and I swallowed his cum. I'd never let Lester come in my mouth before tonight, and I don't think you could count what I'd done with his cum tonight as swallowing - so this was a first. The effect wasn't subtle. It had a nasty taste and consistency, but the nastiness of it, its ooziness, the way it gushed out of the end of this anonymous cock into the

wrong hole

, making my mouth a cunt - it was like this was what I'd secretly longed for my whole life, and I felt it in every bit of me that could feel arousal - clit, nips, toes, armpits, asshole, belly button. I felt it in places I'd never known could get turned on: every hair on my head seemed to have a tiny fire burning at the base of it.

I gazed into his eyes and licked my lips. I must have looked like I wanted to eat him alive.

"Fuck," he said, and took another step back. Keeping an eye on me like I was a rattlesnake, he bent down, fumbled for his pants, and pulled them up. He backed towards the door as he fastened the fastener, zipped the zipper, and buckled his belt. He checked himself in the mirror for just a second before he hit the door, and then he was gone.

Yeah, I felt rotten, him looking at me like I had Ebola or something. But you know what else I felt? After like twenty-six years of being below average at every fucking thing I'd tried - schoolwork, sports, sex, work, relationships, cooking, personal grooming, you name it - I'd found one thing I was really great at. I knew it in my bones: it was Olympic-class cocksucking I'd just done, and old Dave there, or whatever his name was, would probably go the whole rest of his life without ever again getting as fine a blowjob as what I'd given him.

I went to the mirror, straightened my dress, considered rinsing my mouth with water from the sink, and decided against it. When I got back to the bar, Dave had moved back to his stool, and the other guy at the bar was leaning over the two stools that separated them, talking to him. They both fell silent as I went by. Dave didn't look at me, but the other guy did.