The Death Of Tammy Janeway Pt 03

OMG!! I'd fucked a stranger!!!

I woke up the next morning with a heavy heart. I'd failed myself again. I'd failed my religion. I'd failed my fiancé. I'd betrayed everything I loved. My only solace lay in the fact that Devon hadn't cum in me. But it wasn't due to any lack of effort on my part. I'd tried my best to work semen from his nuts. When he finally pulled out and went over to Jaleesa, I'd been so....I dunno how to describe it. Jealous? Empty? Unfulfilled? Traumatized?

I didn't even know this guy!!

I didn't know most of the women in the room, either. And the three women I did know weren't going to say anything. Hell, they'd smothered this guy in pussy, too. It's not like they could go back to work, point to me and say: "She's a SLUT!!" All of us were covered in the tainted glory of that particular moniker.

My main worry was that someone in that club might come across me and my corner Watchtower stand. How could I preach the Gospel under the stain of the very public depravity I'd exhibited at Jaleesa's bachelorette party? I needed to pray.

Of course, Donnie would never, COULD never find out about this episode. He and I were celibate in anticipation of marriage. Donnie followed a very strict version of Watchtower dogma. We never kissed. He rarely touched me. When he did, even accidentally, huge sparks raged in us both, I'm sure. We couldn't wait to get it on.

I calmed greatly after attending Jaleesa's bachelorette party. Though I tried to hide it, Donnie noticed. I played it off by saying I was a little under the weather. This was a lie. I was basking in the afterglow of three marvelous nuts I'd snatched from Devon's smokin' penis. It was salve for an open wound. Try as I might, I kept replaying that night in my mind. It was all I could do to keep from masturbating in the shower. My prayers were failing. More and more the idea of being the star of my own bachelorette party framed my thoughts.

I started paying close attention to the blowback from Jaleesa's party. Surprisingly, there was none. Not a whisper. This amazed me. When I was in high school every little thing my girlfriends did became public knowledge. If one of them was caught kissing a boy under the bleachers the story blew up into some flailing decadence. If she was caught kissing a girl it was worse. If two girls got into a fight and a titty popped out, by the time the story made its rounds both girls were seen fighting naked in a mud pit. This double standard between men and women is why women tend to be more circumspect in their love lives.

At work, Felicia, Destiny and Monique behaved as if nothing had happened. There was neither a whisper nor a hint of gossip about Jaleesa's bachelorette party. Conversely, my experience there was the only thing on my mind.

I came to find out that the bachelorette party is the only time a woman can be publicly sexual without recriminations. No one calls her a "slut" or a "whore". Each of the women in attendance can shake loose of her moral hindrances and behave according to her innate sexual imperatives. I mean, men attend these things all the time and no one calls them "sluts". Slut shaming is a peculiar method of branding women who don't abide by the unwritten rules in American culture. The bachelorette party is this one golden exception to these rules.

I began to see this exception as a valuable diadem. Even though I'd prayed over my sinful participation at Jaleesa's party, I thought that maybe I ought to reconsider my refusal to attend my own bachelorette party. One only gets this one chance to get one's freak on and get away with it.

Still, I spent the next few weeks looking over my shoulder. As a minister of the Gospel, I had wide exposure to many different varieties of people. My friends at work were cool, you know, but you never knew whom you'd run into.

So I'm out on the corner one day, proselytizing, hoping that my smile would snare a likely convert for the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society. This woman walks by. She's an obvious dyke. She had the face of someone I'd seen before but couldn't place. She sees me staring at her and she slowed to return my stare!! Apparently, she knew my face, too!! It suddenly occurred to me--she's the bartender at the club!! She'd watched that whole schpiel with Devon the Dancer and me!! I almost died of shame!!

But I played it off nicely. I kept smiling. The woman picked up her pace; she walked past without saying anything. It's a good thing, too. In a room full of women it's tough to remember an individual face. I bet if I'd had my legs cocked open she would have recognized my vagina. Can you imagine my embarrassment if she'd come up and asked: "Didn't I see you down at Nastytown the other week?"

This, however, did not stop my curiosity at attending another such event. I kept envisioning me making the mistake of going down on Brother Samuelson on our wedding night and having him ask: "What are you doing?"

What man turns down a blowjob? What man doesn't know the moves a woman makes as prelude to a blowjob? That would be any and all of the JW men I knew.

It occurred to me that Devon's cock might have been the last cock that ever passed my lips. It also occurred to me that I'd never have anal sex again. It also occurred that my pussy would go unlicked from now until the end of time.

I found none of these outcomes appealing. Maybe if I got just one more freak on I wouldn't be wondering about it forever. I pondered over this for two weeks, going back and forth over my moral options, then I called Felicia and told her that I would be OK with her plans for my bachelorette party, so long as the plans didn't include anyone from my congregation, nor any JW's from the Detroit metro area, and the invitations would be only verbally given. There should be nothing incriminating in writing, no ornate cards detailing the time and place of the event. Felicia happily agreed.

Plans for my bachelorette party proceeded apace. I had to pretend nothing was in the works, but I saw and approved each and every detail. Felicia was my firewall. If anything leaked, she agreed to take the blame. Nothing, and I mean absolutely NOTHING, came past her. I demanded total plausible deniability.

A few days before the party an issue came up. The Closer's name changed. Felicia told me that the Closer didn't want his name known. I vetoed this caveat. I insisted that his name be revealed for the background check. There were no details I was willing to let slip. I needed to see his most recent health check, too.

Felicia assured me that I would be pleased with Mr. Anonymous. She wouldn't tell me why or how she came about this confidence. I held fast to my veto. Felicia and I fought over this for three days until she played her trump card--the new Closer had a twelve-inch dick. And he's white.

I'd never had sexual congress with either.

"I'll do it," I said.

I took a vacation day on the Friday before my wedding. As you might imagine, I had two sets of friends to satisfy. I had my JW friends. These, of course, would not have been caught dead at any event where public fornication might occur. And I had my worldly friends, who would have killed themselves laughing at the party I'd agreed to do with my JW friends.

The JW party came first. It consisted of me and all the girls in my official Kingdom Hall bridal party. We met at the maid of honor's home early Friday evening. The party opened with prayer. Afterward we laughed and opened gifts. Our refreshments consisted of punch and cookies. We played childish games ("I spy with my little eye....") and Spades. The most outrageous moment of the party came when I opened a gift of see-through black lingerie that I was supposed to wear on my wedding night. This caused us all to blush knowingly. The party ended around nine thirty, after which I was supposed to go back to my mother's home and rest up for the loss of my virginity twenty-four hours hence. Quite the momentous occasion.

I did not go home.

Instead, I met up with Felicia, Destiny and Monique at Felicia's home. There I changed into clothing more apropos for the coming bacchanalia. First, I shed my panties. Second, I donned a matching black wool blouse and skirt outfit with an oversized belt and high-heeled boots. The skirt had side slits designed to facilitate easy access to my naughty bits, if you catch my drift. I pranced around in this outfit for my gurlz. They'd never known me to be so outlandish. Typical JW accoutrement tends to be desperately plain. You'd never know there were any naughty bits underneath.

We downed a few tequila shots to bolster our courage, then Felicia followed me to my mother's home for the second part of our diabolical plan. I got out of my car and left it in the driveway. This was just in case one of my snooty JW friends came by to check up on me. (Don't laugh. It's been known to happen.) Then I got into Felicia's car and we deedee'd.

Our arrival at the club caused a great uproar. The club was full of women. I didn't know any of them. Only about twenty of them were there specifically for my party. The rest of them just showed up on the off chance that there would be a bachelorette party and maybe they might participate. Some of them showed up at this club every week to crash bachelorette parties held for strangers. THESE are the women that needed to be slut shamed. I mean, who does that?

I didn't want to make a big production out of my entry, but Felicia did, and so that's what happened. They waltzed me in to great fanfare. The DJ announced my arrival. There was an oversized chair with my middle name on a placard (and nothing else). Then they started plying me with alcohol. The music was loud and rowdy. Other than the waiters there were no men in the club, so women got up to dance with one another. As the night wore on these dances became ever more erotic until, finally, the women were simulating both oral and anal sex on the dance floor. I smiled as if this didn't blister my Christian conscience. It did. I wasn't supposed to be in this modern day Gomorrah. I had to keep reminding myself that there would be men soon. I'd suck a dick, I'd get my pussy licked, maybe get a chance to hump the Closer's megadick, and then it would be over. This would be my second and last visit to Nastytown. I would pray for forgiveness about my attendance later on.

These hijinx continued for some time until the lights dimmed. A spotlight came up and this muscular white guy came prancing out from the back. The DJ announced him as Dick Dastardly. I knew that wasn't his real name. Dick Dastardly was the name of some cartoon character I'd seen on Cartoon Network.

Anyway, Dick comes out and he's doing one silly dance after another. He pulled out his dick and the best term I could use to describe it was "adequate". He certainly was no Malik. He wasn't even up to par with the guys from the last bachelorette party I'd attended. I hoped this wasn't the white guy I'd been promised. This could not have been Mr. Anonymous. Only a horse describes a twelve-inch dick as "adequate".

Several women immediately pounced on Mr. Dastardly. All of them were a bit chubby. Well, more than a bit. They were fat. These women went after his dick like it was an hors d'oeuvre in lieu of an entrée...at Popeye's.

I'd never seen three women suck the same dick before. I covered my eyes, faking embarrassment you know, but really wanting to see. Dick was trying to fight them off. But, for all his muscle, he couldn't move the mountain of flesh pinning him down. He came in their faces, two of them anyway, and those two women hopped up and paraded that jizz around like it was holy water blessed by the Pope. There was a lot of laughter. And the next thing I knew, Dick Dastardly was gone. I looked over at Felicia.

"Wasn't I supposed to be in on that?" I mouthed.

Felicia shook her head yes. The bride closes out every dancer at these events. Felicia made her way up to the DJ booth and started an animated conversation. I wasn't sure if the DJ was in charge of the dancers or not. He listened to her gyrations patiently. I say "listened to her gyrations" because he surely couldn't hear her voice. The music was too loud.

The next three guys that came out were black, so I knew none of them were Mr. Anonymous. All three of them were better endowed than Dick Dastardly, though, and all three of them were better dancers. Each of them navigated the crowd of women skillfully before reaching me. And when they got to my seat I was hornier'n a toad. I couldn't wait to get their dicks inside me. I'd shed my inhibitions by then, assisted in no small part by strong drink and lust. This was my last night as a single woman. I planned to go out in style. When each of these dancers sashayed up to me I was "happier'n a faggot with a bucketful of dicks". (Malik used to say that all the time.)

I sucked the first two guys off with the skill and precision I'd accumulated during my long experience with Malik. I knew how to suck dick. Neither man lasted more than a minute or two before filling my mouth with cum. Destiny came over and made a face so funny that I gagged and snorted jizz out my nose. I didn't know this at the time, but her funny face was a part of the weekly show, as was the jizz snort. Everyone had a laugh at my expense. Apparently, I didn't suck dick as well as I'd given myself credit.

"Seasoned dick suckers don't snort cum."

The third black guy came out and, after he'd danced about and enjoyed several blowjobs from the crowd, he came up and led me to a couch in the middle of the dance floor. He danced around me for a bit. He let me suck him, but not for long enough to get the jizz snort. I was determined to get it right this time around. But before that happened he moved south and spread my legs.

"This is it!!" I mused happily.

See, blowjobs are for the man. I'd wanted to suck a few dicks before committing to a life free of fellatio. JW women don't suck dick. At least they don't admit to it if they do.

Pussy, on the other hand, is for both the man and the woman. With my legs spread open like that I wanted to roll over and encourage him to take up a mount that I didn't expect of Donnie.

"Fuck me up the ass!!" I wanted to say.

The dude was on me so fast, missionary, that I didn't get the chance to suggest otherwise. I felt his penis at my entrance and then it was "Katie bar the door!!" He was all the way up in there. My eyes crossed, it felt so good. I let him get situated and then I settled in for a long, luxurious romp. I could feel the fat end of his cock rolling around in there like this was his own personal pussy (it was not) and he felt free to do whatever nasty shit that came to mind (he certainly could).

We were just getting into it. The crowd was cheering us on. I could feel him getting ready to nut. That was alright with me. I was getting married tomorrow. I came here expecting to get nutted.

So what happened? This guy hops up and goes for the guzzle!! Apparently, he preferred my throat to my pussy because he came as soon as he got it in my mouth. I didn't snort, but that didn't matter. He'd left me short of my nut and I was unhappy. I gave Felicia a look. She tromped back up to the DJ. Mr. "I prefer piehole to pussy" gathered his things and disappeared into the back.

So now I'm mad. You leave a woman wanting and she's going to be mad. She might not say so, but it's always a mistake to pull out too early whether she sucks you off or not. Guys, if you get the chance to put your dick up a woman's pussy, make sure she cums before you move on to other pursuits. This was my last blowout before a lifetime of "him on top, me on top". FUCK...ME...RIGHT, OK?

The last dancer comes out. He's a big white guy, I'd say 6'5" or so. And he's got muscles to spare. This has got to be Mr. Anonymous. I liked him right off. He was wearing this Egyptian hajib and nothing else. His dick was just humongous. I'd never seen anything like it in real life or on film.

He starts doing the "Walk Like an Egyptian" thing. In fact, that was his backdrop music. He pressed his hands into that praying position and waggled his head side to side like the girls in the video. He had the shifty eyes going and all. He could really move! You don't expect white guys to be able to dance as well as he. The women in the crowd were just throwing themselves at him.

This really fat chick clippity clops up and grabs him. She drags him over to the couch by his wrist. Then she flips her dress up to expose her naked, dimpled ass and she gives him the "Do it to me, baby!" look, like that's going to make her ass seem less immense. All her friends are fat, too, and they're just jostling for their turn at the couch.

Mr. Anonymous mounts Miss Clippity-Clop from behind and he starts giving her the "Squeal like a pig!!" routine. Now, I'm familiar with this bit. It's from an early Seventies movie called Deliverance. The movie is about four white guys on a canoe trip down a river. Two of the guys got ahead of the other two, and they got trapped and raped by these two toothless hillbillies.

You can see how this might not fly in a room full of black women, many of whom tended to be on the hefty side. I doubt any of those women knew of the movie reference.

The room went eerily silent (except for the booming house music). What does Mr. Anonymous do? He pulls his erect cock from Miss Clippity-Clop's ass and parades it around the room. A white guy with a dick this big...and he can dance, too? Soon enough the whole room is shrieking again. He goes back to mount Clippity-Clop and before you know it, both of her mammoth butt cheeks are wobbling like a San Francisco earthquake. She's cussing and goin' on. The crowd loved it.

Mr. Anonymous fucks her until she cums. ONCE. Then he throws her over and mounts the next hefty. She cums. ONCE. On to the next.

Mind you, all of these women are complaining. They're saying he pulled out too soon!! Evidently one nut wasn't enough for these greedy heffahs. But here's the thing: IT WASN'T THEIR WEDDING PARTY!! It was MY wedding party! They're lucky I didn't toss all of their monkey asses out into the street and bust MY nuts ONCE for each one of them! Why should I share? Mr. Anonymous had me dripping from the moment he walked in!!

This white boy fucked eighteen different women before he walked me up to the dais. I counted. If you can believe me, his cock stood up the whole time, too. He was hard when he first rolled up and hard when he came looking for me. I was more than ready for him, having downed enough tequila to shed my moral encumbrances along with my drawers. I wasn't just me. I was a part of a crowd, "emboldened by the courage imbued from membership therein".

There was something about him that was familiar. I couldn't put my finger on it. I kept trying to note where I'd seen him before. He was big and rugged. Each time I looked at his dick every clue about his identity fled me, however.

So he's dancing around me in circles, doing first one dance then another. I kept trying to catch his eye. His whole face was hidden by that hajib, but I knew his eyes from somewhere. The eyes don't lie. Where had I seen those eyes before?

He kept teasing me with that magnificent pole of his. As soon as I'd reach out to catch a taste he'd snatch it back. WTF? I was about to give him a good cussing. It was ME who'd paid for this shit. ME. Not Felicia, not Destiny, not Monique. ME. And he's playing hard to get? Nigga, you'd better get over here an' try an' git got! I ain't fuckin' wit' you.

(This isn't my normal JW lingo. But I am from Detroit, hence the perfect local vocabulary and diction. And to think, I can swing back and forth seamlessly between this scatology and the healthful pattern of words offered up by the Watchtower Society.)