The Bachelorette Party Pt 03

When I got home from my little soiree with Lisa Winchell and Nikki Hanson, I looked down at my dick with disgust. The fucker had failed me at a critical moment. I'd had Lisa lined up on the edge of her hotel room's bed, ass tooted up for pole. I'd been all up in dat ass, fully immersed in the ecstasy of chocolate honey. I'm humping away; I could feel the ribbed lining of her rectum quivering as her outbox expanded and contracted, sweltering in dick. A man with a twelve-inch cock can get a good ways up in there without having to hang on to a woman's waist, if you know what I mean.

The next thing I know I'm dribbling millions of my prospective children into the depths of an arena "ill designed for procreation", as they might say. And the owner of that arena was more than a little peeved at my early detonation.

"ALREADY!?!?"

she'd said.

That's something a man never wants to hear.

Here's some advice, fellas. If you're going to fuck a woman up the ass, FUCK HER. Don't get her up on the pole, get her all hyped up and then leave her hanging. FUCK THAT BITCH. It's what both of you want...or you wouldn't be there.

So I get home. I consoled myself by saying that I'd left the sisters clamoring for more. This was a weak rationalization and I knew it. After my southern dick tapped out, I felt obliged to use my smaller, northern dick (the one in my mouth) to perform the service they'd expected of my southern dick.

OK, so I know how to lick pussy. It's a great fallback weapon. I love sucking pussy. But my ego was bruised. Mr. Happy, as I've said, had failed me. It didn't happen often.

I stepped into the bathroom to strip out of my clothes. I look down and this fucker is halfway hard! MOTHERFUCKER!! This assmunch had a bad case of the yips when I had Nikki and Lisa splayed out in front of me. And now he wants some hole!!?

YOU BASTARD!!

I didn't even bother to jack him off. He was going to have to go to sleep dangling. I took a hot shower and teased him by soaping him up. I even jacked him hard. But he wasn't going to get any relief that night.

FUCK 'EM, hey?

I slept fitfully. That "FUCK 'EM!" never really works. I kept envisioning that brown, furry pussy and that bald, ginger pussy in my face and the exquisite taste of those two pearly clits. My cock, so useless earlier, now conspired to roast me awake like a teenaged boy. You've been there. You're trying to sleep and your dick is poking up, wide awake, acting as if he ain't had none in a coon's age. Who's going to win that fight?

Surrendering to the inevitable, I reached down and gave him a quick shuffle, releasing him from his constraints.

"It's about time." he drawled acerbically.

I sighed with resignation. Closing my eyes, I began shifting through the memory of a thousand different quivering clefts I'd penetrated and inseminated. I envisioned a thousand more that I'd desperately wanted to penetrate, but failed to close the deal. It was like leafing through the Pussy Yellow Pages. All the while I'm stroking myself opulently, waiting for a likely candidate to emerge. My penis, of course, would make the final decision.

I finally settled on the vision of a woman whose pussy stood out from the crowd. I remembered her bulging purple labia and the luxuriant scent percolating up from the depths of her opening. I'd fucked her before, but her name escaped me. In my masturbatory reverie I fucked this nameless woman silly. All I could see was my penis surging back and forth in her sticky hole. Five minutes in I rotated this hole out and substituted another vision, this one, again, nameless. And then another. And another.

At the point of eruption I settled on my vision of Lisa Winchell, the black girl from earlier, and drenched her rectum in cum. The lights flickered wildly in jagged shards of bright. My legs trembled uncontrollably. My eyes fluttered. A dollop of hot jism arced up and landed on my chin, just beneath my lip.

Shit!

I waited until the electric flickering lights calmed before getting up to wash. I'd been doing this all my life. I was a pro. Chin jizz didn't bother me, but my Judeo Christian heritage compelled me to get up to wipe it away. No homo.

Five minutes later I was asleep.

I woke up the next day, a Tuesday, and performed my regular exercise routine--a hundred pushups, two hundred sit-ups, a hundred pull-ups and a half hour on the speed bag. I attacked each cycle with the fervor of an Olympic athlete. Sweaty and disheveled, I masturbated again for good measure. I had another bachelorette party scheduled for Friday night, two thousand dollars worth of strange on tap. As per usual, I'd spend the next three days in celibacy. By Friday I'd have a huge store of jism to offer the bride, some chick named Brenda, a woman I'd never met. I hoped she wasn't a fatty.

Checking my phone, I saw a message from Nikki and Lisa and a few others. I never listen to my messages. If I get a call and I want to respond, I call back. If I don't call back, oh well. I figure whomever it is will call me back if it's important enough.

I didn't think the Nikki and Lisa call important. They were headed out of town. I figured it was one of those "We'll call you the next time we're in town" calls, and "Thank you for licking my pussy so eloquently". Women find closure in such calls. Men do not. I figured they'd call me again if they were stranded somewhere on I-75 and needed my help.

There was also a call from Brenda's wedding planner, a woman named Deirdre. This had to be a business call. My weekend money was on the line. I called Deirdre back.

"Deirdre! Chad!! Wassup?"

I was brusque. I didn't really know this woman. She'd called me to perform at Brenda Pendleton's wedding party. I gave her a price and a set of things I would do and a set of things I would not do. I told her I had to be the show closer, unless she had another guy whose dick was bigger than mine on tap, something I knew to be unlikely. We'd already agreed on these things. This phone call had to be an addendum to the agreement already in place, unless maybe the bride had an unusual change to my earlier stipulations. I wasn't of a mind to accept any such changes. I wasn't sucking any dick (Don't laugh. This wasn't an unusual request at these bachelorette parties), although I might be persuaded into a DP session--for an additional fee.

"Yes, Chad. I did call you. How are you?"

Why the fuck did she care about my welfare? Bitch, get to the point!

"I'm fine, thank you. How can I help you?"

"Chad, I've spoken with Brenda about the things we agreed upon. She's excited to meet you Friday night. Chad, Brenda has a request that I...well...I didn't think you'd find overly burdensome. But I thought I'd run it by you."

"And?" I queried.

"Well, it's like this. Brenda is expecting several co-workers at her bachelorette party. She knows these women well and...well...Brenda doesn't have a high opinion of their hygiene. You catch my drift?"

"Yes, I think I do."

I knew exactly what she was saying.

"Anyway," Deirdre continued, "You can accept all the blow jobs you want. Brenda doesn't want you dipping your wick into anyone but her. If you do, even accidentally, you won't get paid."

"Excuse me," I countered. "I thought this call was concerning payment. But not in that way. We agreed that I would get paid--in FULL--prior to the event. Are you telling me that you intend to abrogate that agreement?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," she said. "I'm calling to see if you'll accept half up front and half on the back end?"

"That was NOT our agreement." I said.

"I know," she sighed. "My client informs me that even an accidental slip into a vagina not her own will mean that you'd have to refund the up front fee."

"Fuck THAT," I huffed. "I can't control what her nasty friends are going to do. Suppose I'm sucking a pussy and get blindsided? Some drunken ho could jump up and mount me and then I'd be ass out. Shit like that happens all the time! Can Brenda guarantee her friends' behavior ahead of time? No? So why should I be financially responsible for what these ho's do? I refuse."

"Chad, that's unfortunate. These are Brenda's terms. She's the bride."

"Then you tell her I won't be there. It's just that simple."

"You're turning down this money?"

"You're DAMNED right. What am I, her bitch? We had a deal in place."

"Chad, be reasonable. We're all looking forward to you being the star of the show. Brenda picked YOU out from all the prospective dancers. I, myself, will be attending. Don't make me go back to her with another option this late in the game."

"No, Deirdre. We had a deal. You signed off on it. And now you want to change the terms. That's dealbreaker for me, you understand? I've got several fallback positions on short notice."

"None this lucrative, I'm sure."

"FUCK the money, Deirdre. I can't guarantee what other women are going to do that late in a bachelorette party. Unless you want me to open. I can open the show on those terms. I can't close."

I knew that the opener might get blown, but he rarely got any pussy.

"You know damn well the biggest dick always closes the show, Chad. I've got three guys ahead of you. One of them is a six-incher. If he comes out after you, I'll look like Gomez Addams."

"Is this about YOU?" I countered. "This is about a deal you made and now you want to renege."

"Chad, I don't have any negotiating room here. It's Brenda's money."

"OK. Well, have fun with Mr. Six Incher."

And I hung up. Two thousand tax-free dollars down the drain. Now I've got an open weekend on my schedule. That bit about having several fallback positions was a lie. Both of us knew it. I threw my cell phone into the couch.

SHIT!!

I grabbed the television remote and snapped the TV on. Steven A. Smith was snarling some bullshit about Patrick Mahomes leaving the Kansas City Chiefs.

I hate THAT guy. Isn't he annoying? Why in the FUCK would Mahomes leave Kansas City? I didn't even bother to listen to Smith's rationale. His VOICE annoys me. I quickly flipped the channel to the Andy Griffith Show. Floyd the Barber, one of my personal favs, was nancing around in his shop. He had Barney Fife in his chair. I love THAT guy. I wondered what Barney would do if he had a huge cock like mine? That damn Thelma Lou would be walking funny, hey? I laughed at the vision of Barney mounted behind Thelma Lou, giving her the old in/out, with that single strand of greasy hair dangling in his eyes and that goofy headshake of his. These two had a standing date to watch TV on Tuesday nights. TELEVISION NIGHT IN MAYBERRY!! I don't believe Barney had any opportunity to tap Thelma Lou's ass over the entirety of the show's run. Too, ole Thel didn't look like she'd be in any hurry to suck dick on TV night. None of the women in those endless reruns of black and white shows from the Sixties practiced fellatio, I'm led to believe. Not Thelma Lou. Not Helen Crump. Not Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies. Not Ellie Mae. None of the girls from Petticoat Junction. Not Mary Tyler Moore from the Dick Van Dyke show (She and her husband slept in twin beds for Cry Eye!!). Not That Girl Marlo Thomas. Not Mrs. Thurston Howell III, Ginger or Maryanne. Not Wilma Flintstone. Maybe Morticia Addams. She's the only one I thought had the stones to sneak off to slob a knob on camera.

I watched the whole Andy Griffith episode and the episode after that. It helped me get over my frustration with that damned Brenda. I'd given up on her by then. If she intended to meet my terms, Deirdre would have called me back by now.

I picked up my phone to call Gloria. That's her whole name--Gloria. No last name, like Cher. Gloria was my "pimp". Any time I needed a gig, I called Gloria. She answered the phone immediately and abruptly.

"...the FUCK'S YOUR problem?" she opened.

Our relationship was like that.

"I love you, too." I replied.

"I repeat: WHAT...THE...FUCK, CHAD?"

"My Friday Night called and cancelled. Have you got anything?" I asked.

"Half." she countered.

"Half?!!??" I stammered by way of reply. Her starting position was WAY out of bounds.

"Motherfucker! Did I stutter?"

"I'm sorry," I sneered. "I thought I was calling someone with a modicum of common sense. Have you got a thirteen-inch dick that you're planning to sling around that night?"

"Half." she said again, ignoring my comment.

"Ummm...I'll pass. Thanks."

"C'mon, Chad. Half is better than nothing. I've got a couple of things I was going to call you on, but I knew you'd say you were busy."

"Thirty." I countered.

"HALF, Chad. HALF. I've gotten you gigs at ten. It's your turn to wash my back."

She was right about that. Twenty percent was the going rate, but I often wouldn't do more than ten. I'm white. I've got a monster cock. I'm in too much demand to pay out more than that. Now I'd foregone a two thousand dollar payday with a room full of white women. It was my time to come hat-in-hand.

"Forty." I offered.

"Half, Chad. Half."

She had me cornered. I tried once more.

"White women? Small batch?"

This was a coded reference. I don't give a fuck about the ethnicity of the women I fuck. "Small batch white women" is a reference to women that are known to be more finicky about the dicks they suck, especially in public. In a "small batch white woman" bachelorette party my whole night might consist of just prancing around with my dick out. It's a good bet that none of the women, not even the bride, will partake. "Small batch white women" is a euphemism for an easy night.

"Nope." Gloria replied. "All Sistahs."

"Sistahs?"

"DID I STUTTER?!?"

"Pink weave?" I flustered.

This, too, was a coded reference. "Sistahs", of course, meant black women. "Pink weave" referred to their economic status and their tendency to wear copious amounts of other people's hair in crazy, braided permutations. Black women with pink weaves tend to be, well, you figure it out. They also tend to be on the hefty side. "Pink weave" implied all this. Gloria, who is also black, came up with a lot of these euphemisms.

"YES," she replied.

I wasn't happy.

"What's the nut?" I asked.

"A grand. Five hundred to you."

SONUVABITCH. I'd gone from a two thousand dollar night with a bunch of timid white women to a five hundred dollar night with a bunch of fat, rowdy, black women, ALL of whom would want to get fucked, usually from behind, and ALL of whom would treat me like their paid country bitch which, of course, I was.

"Maybe I should call Deirdre back."

Let me say that I enjoy partying with a bunch of fat, drunken black women. You wanna laugh and have a good time? These are the ones to do it with. They have great jokes and few inhibitions.

But you wanna talk about a bunch of greedy ho's? These are them. They won't pass you off to the bride for the money shot. Every single one of them wants to fuck until they make you cum, hollerin' and goin' on. And they'll give you the stank look if you can't get it up for the next fat chick, too. No one gives 'tude like the pink weaves.

I was just about to pass. I have money. I didn't need the five bills. I can go several months without working, if I have to. I only called Gloria on the off chance that she had an easy payday. She always did. This was not that.

"Who's the bride?" I asked, in my "I'm about to get off the phone" voice.

Gloria snickered.

"It's Tammy Janeway."

If she'd told me this up front we could have saved ourselves some time. Tammy was an old flame. Gloria knew it. I hadn't seen or spoken to Tammy since forever. She and I dated well before my career in nude dancing got underway, indeed, well before it was even a consideration. I'd talled up and muscled up a bit since then. If I showed up at her bachelorette party, I doubted she would recognize me. It would be something of a surprise reunion. And I would finally get to fuck her, something that I'd never accomplished during our relationship.

"I'll do it." I said.

"Half?" Gloria asked hopefully. She'd played her trump card.

"I'll do it for FREE."

The key to playing this trump card, of course, is secrecy. Tammy must be surprised at my entrance. To my mind she must be kept completely in the dark until my erect penis was poised at the entrance to her vagina.

To this end I ditched all of my usual personas. I decided to wear a simple hajib, covering all of my facial features except my eyes, and a simple g-string that allowed my cock to dangle. Tammy had never seen me naked. I didn't think she would see my cock dangling and identify me. My well-defined torso was one of my trademarks in the industry. Again, Tammy had never seen me naked, so I figured I could dissemble easily in this manner.

Came the night of the bachelorette party and I'm peering out from the back, fully in character. I haven't seen Tammy in years. I hoped she hadn't porked up alongside the other pink weaves.

And, believe me, there was no shortage of them. Such a crowd of hootin' and hollerin' pink weave fatties you wouldn't believe. There were five of us dancers scheduled to perform. The first was a white guy who danced using the pseudonym Dick Dastardly. Dick came out and performed clownishly as one might expect of the opening act. He had a nice body and a sturdy seven-inch cock. The pink weaves pounced on him, three at a time, and forced him to nut well before the bride took her turn. He tried (unsuccessfully) to wrap his cock in latex. The pinkies weren't having it. They sucked him rawdog, front and back, until he splurted two of them in the face, causing a great ruckus. His two 'victims' pranced about as if they'd won the lottery. Dick took this opportunity to slip away like a dog with its tail between its legs. I think this may have been his first session with the pink weaves. He didn't look to be of a mind for a second go.

The next three dancers were black guys, each of escalating length. They were competent dancers. When the pinkies pounced, they skillfully maneuvered away. Unlike Dick, all three of them ended up in Tammy's embrace. The first two spilled themselves under Tammy's clumsy fellatio. (I could see she was a reluctant chickenhead. She was one of those chicks who only sucked dick because it was expected, and not because she was a connoisseur). The third black guy pretended to mount her before getting her to guzzle. (I'd warned all the dancers not to soil her pussy beforehand, without telling them why.) Each of these guys ran the gauntlet of fatties before arriving at the bride.

Tammy had thickened over the years, but she wasn't yet a cottage cheese ass fatty. Most of her friends had already arrived at that state. The thing about fatties is that their gaping pussies get so wet that a man can't any friction. It's like fucking a water balloon. My cock is three inches thick. If I'm not getting any friction, sump'ns mighty wrong. I could see that Tammy's ass was still thick and ripe but her waist was daintier than it might be, you know, not pencil thin, but not late term Aretha, either. She didn't have the ass crumples quite yet. Watching her suck dick while standing in the back, I got that familiar burn in my stomach that made her look like the finest of wines. Soon it would be my turn.

My entrance, as always, caused a great sensation. I'm a white man in a room full of pink weaves. My dick requires a Hefty bag as a condom. The pinkies shrieked when I came out, almost fully naked, wearing my hajib. I'd practiced that little shifty Middle Eastern dance with the side-to-side head movements from the "Walk Like an Egyptian" music video, and I could moonwalk sideways. My dick was already halfway hard. I gripped it sensually as part of my dance routine. I saw Tammy's eyes light up.

Now the fattest of the fatties lumbered up. I'd expected this. It's always the two-tonne Tessies that want to get fucked first. You don't really want to fuck these women missionary because their bellies will flop over their cunts. You'll have to make several excavation moves to get to the honeypot. It's like fucking an elephant seal. It's REALLY unappetizing. But, apparently, these women think otherwise. They think themselves beautiful.