The Bachelorette Party

The Bachelorette Party, Part 2

If you've been paying attention to my earlier mentions, my name is Chad aka "Detroit". I am an exotic dancer rocking megacock. I'm white, which makes me kinda unique for the genre. I met these two sisters, Lisa and Nikki, at a bachelorette party three nights ago. One is black, the other is white. I gave them my phone number, curious to know how their genetic relationship came about.

It took a few days but my phone finally rang.

"Hello?" I said.

"MR. BENGA!!!" came the screeching reply.

Mr. Benga? Who the fuck is that? I had no clue. This had to be a wrong number.

Lisa, the black sister, continued.

"MR. BENGA!! WE KNOW IT'S YOU!!!"

Now, at the time, I didn't know of Mr. Benga. It turns out that he's a white porn star. His cock is comparable to mine. He's not as prolific as Mandingo, but he is out there in the pornosphere. The thing about him is that he never shows his face on film. He also never shows the faces of the women he fucks. The camera is always focused on the image of his gigantic cock poking some roiling, sticky pussy or piledriving some chick's bubbled ass. I had to do a search on his name to find all this out. Having done so, I understood the comparison. Mr. Benga is packing white megawood. He's my competitor.

I knew none of this at the time. I thought the sisters (who had me on conference call) had mistaken my phone number for someone else's.

"Who the FUCK is this?" I demanded.

"It's US!!" the sisters chortled.

I'd only met them once. I didn't recognize their voices, couldn't understand their cavalier tone, couldn't make out why they were making this phone call seem as it they knew me well. I was about to hang up.

"You met us at Carmella's bachelorette party!! Lisa!! Nicole!!"

That seemed to ring a bell.

"Carmella Acevedo?" I queried.

"That's the one!!" they replied in unison.

"You were the two women sitting next to her? At the club?"

"You got it, Spanky!!"

I laughed. Now I remembered them. If you've done as many of these parties as I have, you tend to jumble the details. I slid casually into my bachelorette character's voice.

"Ladies!! It's good of you to call. I don't often give out this number, but the two of you were so compelling I felt compelled to approach you offline. Are you busy today?"

It was Monday. I knew I wasn't busy and I kinda figured they weren't either, because they'd just come to Detroit to attend a wedding and the wedding was over. Unless I'd misjudged them, they'd stayed over a few days before taking a leisurely drive back to Nashville. This call was probably some sort of pre-cursor to a booty call. A lot of women would see me naked at these parties and make a mental note to make use of my private services on a rainy day in Vageville.

"Of course not!!" they chimed in. "We just wanted to let you know that we recognized you!! Or rather, we recognized your cock!!!"

In my mind I'm still trying to process this 'Mr. Benga' thing. I'd never heard of him. I certainly wasn't him. I knew that much. But they thought I was. So, I thought, maybe I should PRETEND to be him and see where it got me. It's not like I had any shortage of pussy on tap. Every weekend I was fucking upwards of twenty strange women and launching shrieking jets of jism into some bride's vagina or mouth--publicly. It had become so routine as to become mundane. What I liked doing was role-playing, you know, playing up to women's fantasies. If these two thought I was Mr. Benga, who was I to tell them any differently?

"Well, you got me," I said. "Was it that easy to pick me out?"

"It was your DICK that ratted you out," Nikki sneered.

"Yeh!" said Lisa. "I recognized you Friday night, but I had to look up your name online."

Intrigued, I decided to keep playing along.

"How to you look up a random dick online? I mean, do you describe the dick's dimensions, it's foreskin or lack thereof? And the site comes back with the dick's name?"

"No silly!!" Lisa continued. "I just entered 'big white cock' into the search field!! Your name popped up at the top of the list!"

Ahhhh. That had to be it. On Wednesdays, when I haven't been fucked in a few days and need to masturbate, I'll use porn site search fields to skip past the shitty random videos and take me directly to my depravity of choice.

"Hmmmmm. That just tells me that you are familiar with the uses and abuses of porn sites," I said. "How do I know you're not just a couple of perverts who want to meet me in some back alley and degrade me for your own nefarious purposes?"

"That's EXACTLY what we want!!" they screeched happily. "When are you available?"

"How much money have you got?"

"No money. But I've got a pussy," Nikki replied innocently. "And Lisa has one, too. And you can videotape us fucking, that is, if you don't show our faces."

I didn't get the reference. As I've said, I didn't know Benga or his M.O. at the time. And too, as I've said, I'm not a porn star. So this video thingy wasn't MY thingy. But I was still in character, so I agreed, using the rationale that I could always go out online and look up "big, white cock" to check out this Benga fellow.

"Sure!!" I said. "How long are you going to be in town?"

"We're leaving tomorrow," Lisa noted. "We were kinda hoping to hook up with you this afternoon."

I was only half joking about the 'nefarious purposes' bit. I'd fucked both these women three days prior. But I didn't know them. For all I knew, this could be a set up. I figured I'd suggest a public meeting place and see where it took me.

"Do you know the Starbucks at McNichol and Grande? Two o'clock?" I suggested.

And that's how my second encounter with the sisters got started.

As soon as I got off the phone I looked up this Benga fellow. I was a little peeved to see that his cock was, in fact, comparable to my own. I kinda liked being the biggest white cock in the room. Seeing another dick with my proportions left me feeling somewhat...un-unique.

No matter.

I ran thru several of his videos. He never showed his face. I figured that's how the sisters mistook him for me. His videos tended to run rather long. I would have cum several times in the time it took him to cum once.

I got out of bed and went to exercise before I shit, shaved and showered. You don't get to be a highly paid exotic dancer by leaving out the steps and the reps. I had a protein shake, then made my bed and dressed. I like to lay out my clothes a la Richard Gere in American Gigolo, you know, matching up my shirts and ties with my jackets by tossing them onto my bed together. I'm a guy but I'm not a slob. I have a woman that comes by twice a week to clean my condo, wash my clothes and press them. Sometimes she cooks and helps me match my clothes up. I've fucked her a time or two. On those occasions I pay her double so that she doesn't get the idea that our relationship is exclusive.

I've got two cars--a 1977 Jeep Cherokee and a late model Porsche 911. I never drive the Porsche when meeting up with women. It's like telling a car salesman where you work; it automatically ups the price you'll pay, especially if you have a good paying job.

So I jumped in the Jeep and took off for Starbucks. A Jeep tells a woman that you're adventurous. A raggedy 1977 Jeep with clumps of dirt on the bumper, oversized mudding tires and a ragtop tells a woman that you're raunchy in addition to being adventurous. It also tells them not to expect much. It's ME that wants to get paid. I NEVER invite women to my condo. EVER.

I arrived at Starbucks promptly at two p.m. Lisa and Nikki were already there. They'd been there for a minute. Their cinnamon macchiatos were halfway drained. I took this as a good sign. They'd been patiently awaiting my arrival.

"Hello, Ladies!!" I opened.

"Hi, there!!" they replied, excited to see me.

"You're far too overdressed," I ventured, "If you're here to star in one of MY videos."

This brought a lesser round of mirth than I'd anticipated. I pride myself on being witty.

"You want to tape a scene in here?" Lisa asked.

I could tell from her tone that she was serious. I hadn't been.

"Ummmm, yeh. I mean no! I meant to ask what's on your minds?" I said, flummoxed.

"We want to do a video. I thought we'd made that clear." Nikki intoned.

OK, so now I'm up the creek. I'm not this Benga fellow. I don't know a damn thing about making porn videos. I know how to waggle my dick in a room full of drunken female partygoers and get them to pay me to shove my cock up their hoity coozes before they attend church the next day.

"Oh, yes. The video. Ummm, unfortunately...my...um...production team isn't available on such short notice. I've got my...um...cinematographer and my...um...storyboard girl and my...um...lighting guy..."

"Really?" Lisa laughed. "From the quality of your videos it looks like it's just you, your dick and a handheld digital camcorder. Your face is never in the video."

I am quick on the uptake.

"Well, we can do it like that, too," I agreed.

"Your place or ours?" Nikki said. "Did you bring your camera?"

"Oh! Darn!! No."

"You're not really Benga, are you." Lisa countered. She seemed disappointed.

I grinned sheepishly.

"No. I'm not."

Lisa punched Nikki in the shoulder.

"I TOLD you it wasn't him. His dick is BIGGER than Benga's dick. My sense of proportion is never wrong!!"

I was gratified. She'd let me off the hook.

"Have you ever entertained Mr. Benga's cock?" I asked.

"If I had I'd know what he looks like, now wouldn't I?" Lisa maintained coolly.

This made sense.

"I'm actually his big brother," I ad libbed. "BIGGER brother, I meant."

This new lie made light of my earlier misrepresentation and brought us back to a more mirthful plane.

"If you'd entered 'Bigger white cock' into your search engine, you'd have found me." I deadpanned.

They broke up. I always could make women laugh. The sisters invited me to sit. They ordered a macchiato for me.

We spoke and laughed for an hour, maybe two. I explained that I limit my work to bachelorette parties, not porn sites I'm not really a gigolo either, although I don't have scruples against getting paid to fuck.

"I'm not up for the faggy portions of the gigolo business," I mentioned. "I just like to fuck. I'm not an escort. I don't attend art shows or the thee-at-tuh."

"Which we can tell from your finely tuned driving machine," they laughed.

"Don't laugh," I said. "I've driven to several WWE functions in that Jeep, including two Royal Rumbles."

"Well, you did a pretty good job the other night." Nikki said, sobering.

Where had I been the other night? I was confused.

"Carmella's bachelorette party? You FUCKED us, remember?" Lisa reminded.

"Oh, yeah!" I said, laughing.

"Don't act like you don't remember. You wouldn't have slipped us your phone number if the pussy wasn't primo."

"Indeed, ladies, yes. I do remember. It was a memorable night."

Now it was their turn to slip into character. They started giving me this line about them having the sex drives of men. They said it was due to some disease called Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder. I'd never heard of it, and I know a lot about sex, so I knew their whole story was bullshit. But I let them continue. Apparently they went around the country selecting the biggest and most capable cocks, rat holing them against the time when they might have a PGAD flareup requiring a big cock intervention. Mandingo was on their list, they said.

"He lives in Atlanta. His real name is Fred. He's a GREAT guy. We've got him on speed dial. We want you to be our Detroit connection."

Put yourself in my place. Two fine ass women, one black and one white, invite you to a Starbucks. They buy you a cinnamon macchiato and they tell you they want to breeze into town occasionally and fuck your brains out, no questions asked. And you ain't gotta do a damn thing except accept their phone calls?

"What's the catch?" I asked.

"No catch. That's the tale--hook, line and sinker."

I already know what my answer is gonna be. Two-thirds of the women that show up at bachelorette parties are only there for the dick. And it's because THEY AREN'T GETTING DICKED PROPERLY AT HOME. AND THAT'S BECAUSE, WELL, they tend to be facially, titually or assuilly challenged. Homely.

These two? Not so much.

Trust me. I've fucked my share of facially challenged women (from behind, if they leave the choice up to me).

I strived for clarification.

"So you mean to tell me...that if I ask to come up to your hotel room right now...you'll fuck the shit out of me...no questions asked?"

"Dat's da fact, Jack."

An hour later I was lying on my back in a Dearborn Fairfield Inn hotel room bed, naked, while Lisa Winchell rode my cock like an Apache Indian in a John Wayne movie. Her sister, Nicole Hanson, wielded a camera between my legs, videotaping the action. Lisa wasn't looking into my eyes. Rather, she was looking backward, over her shoulder at Nikki, with a big smile on her face (I saw the video afterward). Lisa fucked me until she came. Then she took the camera from her sister and taped Nikki as she rode me reverse cowgirl. Per their promise, neither woman taped any images of my face.

I came in Nikki's pussy. The video showed a closeup of my balls straining mightily to shed themselves of seed. The video also showed a closeup of Nikki's neatly trimmed crimson pussy snapping tight about my dick repeatedly in the extremis of her orgasm, a vision that caused me to become aroused again.

I kept asking why they were videotaping. They said the tapes were for their own personal use. I would never see the tapes online. I'm so not prone to be so trusting, but since I'd verified that my face was in none of the videos, only my dick, why did I care? Some porn connoisseur would be sure to mistake my cock for Mr. Benga's.

Lisa waited for me to recover from my debilitating orgasm. We knocked back a few shots of Patron, doing the lime and salt thing while we watched and critiqued our videos. The drunker I became, the less I cared about seeing my face in the videos. Maybe this was their intent.

In any case, my dick soon preened erect. Both these women had been naked since shortly after retiring to the room. Did I mention how not-ugly they are? It was Lisa's turn at bat. I wanted some ass. I had her scooch up along the edge of the bed and poke that chocolate ass up for consideration. Then I just stood there for a moment, basking in the glory of imminent insertion.

Think about it. You've got this perfectly rounded ass staring you in the face, both cakes gently wobbling. In Lisa's case she's deliberately flexing each cake while puckering her pussy obscenely. She wants it. You can smell it oozing off her. I tell Nikki to zoom in with the camera. I want to see this cake wobble again in the video aftermath.

My cock is rock hard. I've got my choice of orifices quivering before me. There's the pink hole resonating at the bottom of her slit. It's wet from our earlier session and it smells like fuck. You know the odor. And then there's the brown hole, or should I say the browner hole, tightly situated at the center of those quivering cakes.

If you are heterosexual man it doesn't get any better than this.

I nudged up behind her, dick in hand, and rested him at the entrance to each hole so that he might take an intoxicating sniff. Lisa pressed back in both instances. She didn't care. She just wanted a hole full of dick. It didn't matter which one. Eventually, my cock chose her rectum, having already bathed himself in the folds of her steamy vagina.

I always loved watching my penis disappear into a woman. Anal sex facilitates this predilection perfectly. I watched Lisa's clamp-like sphincter expand and expand yet again as it struggled to engulf my cockhead. Lisa helped the process along by groaning like a porn star. I never liked that part. She was faking; I wasn't killing her. I soon would be, however. I made sure of that.

Once she expanded enough to pop tightly about my cockhead I surged forward. She had another twelve inches to swallow down there. I made sure that she felt it coming and going. I gripped her waist and started slamming her full of Polish sausage. Nikki kept the camera going. Soon enough Lisa's groans of ecstasy were real.

Is there anything like the dichotomy of a giant white dick plowing furrows into the rectum of a sweaty chocolate hole? We see the reverse all the time in Mandingo's videos. Today, I had a magnificent specimen of African-American womanhood before me, her most southern hole steaming with lust for white pipe.

I felt like a king.

I was so absorbed in my fantasy of penile dominance that I forgot my main responsibility--to FUCK! Within less than a minute I was spilling my seed. Lisa looked back at me incredulously.

"ALREADY?!??" she said aloud, and not in a nice way, either.

She wasn't close to closure.

It couldn't be helped. I'd like to see YOU mounted over such a magnificent ass and not bust a quick nut.

Nikki laughed.

"You're going to have to do better than that in MY ass," she warned.

It was true. Here I was, rocking a pole worthy of a king, and using it with the fecklessness of a peon. I made my mind up to be more attentive to business in the future.

I poured two more shots of Patron for Lisa and myself. She had that stank look on her face that black women get when they don't get their way.

"You had me all gussied up for a good pokin' and that's the best you could do?"

You won't get too many shots at it, believe me, if you leave a woman like that hanging. I knew I had to tune Lisa up properly before Nikki and I got our swerve on. In fact, the best thing would be for me to tune them up in tandem.

I laughed off my quick summation by complimenting the luxuriant bouquet of Lisa's ass.

"C'mon, baby. To my dick, your ass tastes like sunshine. He was confused!" I laughed.

This unoriginal compliment was sufficiently confusing to throw Lisa off the stank look. I took my dick in hand and waved her over.

"Take a shot of Patron." I suggested casually. "Gargle it. Then go downtown. I'll bet that wakes him up!"

Bad move. Here's a hint, guys. Don't put alcohol on your dick, even if it comes enhanced with throat. It doesn't wake your dick up and it stings like the very dickens. I dunno what I was thinking. I knew that cocaine, discreetly salted along the curves of your cock, would do the trick. But I didn't have any cocaine on me. And I still didn't know that these two weren't cops, so I was reluctant to ask for some.

I snatched my dick from Lisa's mouth. She smirked up at me.

"I knew that was a bad idea," she said.

I gripped my dick and rubbed him back and forth, attempting to ease the sting.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"Because, if it felt good, somebody would have asked me to do that long before now," she replied.

She really knew her stuff. I wondered how many dicks she'd sucked. In any case, it looked like I was going to be down for the count. My dick had failed me.

When your dick refuses to perform, your tongue is always a capable backup option. Some women prefer it to cake. I rolled Lisa over and licked her into a screeching orgasm. I did the same for her sister. You can tell you're sucking pussy properly when their clitorises marble up. If you dip down and toss a little salad they'll be ever so grateful.

I sucked them both again. I felt obligated, since my dick was obviously not living up to his reputation. When they finished writhing, the three of us fell asleep entangled on the same bed, legs overlapping, each of us gently griping the genitals of the others, as if readying ourselves in case of resurrection.

I woke up around midnight and discreetly made my exit. My cock was hard, but I left anyway.