(Literotica readers: The following story is the result of a frank discussion about sexual fantasy between my boyfriend and me. He's the protagonist in this story. He encouraged me to write this shit. I didn't wanna. Ladies, this is actually how your man thinks, according to the wit and wisdom of my boyfriend Lawrence.)
"So, I'm standing in line at the bank. I got my tongue up this chick's ass."
Who could forget this classic opening line by Andrew Dice Clay? And yet, every time I go to the bank or the grocery store or to chapel, I never see any such thing. What I see is a bunch of guys who WISH the chick ahead of them in line would yank down her jeans and poke her ass out for consideration.
I admit that my imagination rivals Andrew's. If the chick is hot enough (and if she doesn't have any streaks in her underwear), I'm always down for a good ass licking. If we're in line long enough, I'll lather her up with tongue and then ram my dick up in her so fast!! I often wonder if the hot chicks standing in line know that the guys standing in line behind them are channeling Andrew Dice Clay. If she would just peek behind her, she'd see any number of boners bulging from any number of pairs of cargo shorts.
I'm one of those guys. I'll happily endure an old woman with a handful of coupons and an unsteady check-writing hand at the checkout counter if she's just ahead of a blonde in a pair of Daisy Dukes. If the old lady takes long enough and my shorts are baggy enough, you'll soon see a dark wet spot spreading where my penis ought to be. I mean, given the aforementioned pair of Daisy Dukes, of course.
And the chick doesn't have to be a blonde, either. She can be black, she can be Brazilian, she can be Indian, Chinese or Mexican--as long as her ass is wider than her waist, preferably by a 2:1 ratio, and her navel has that incredibly thin, wispy line of pubic hair trickling upward from her mound. The skinnier the waist, the wider the ass, the wispier the line of pubic hair, the harder my dick gets.
So I'm standing in line at the bank. Just ahead of me is a pair of Daisy Dukes struggling to incarcerate a couple of basketballs bulging at the top of a pair of perfectly svelt alabaster thighs.
ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!!??!??
I took a mental snapshot of that ass, excused myself from the line, rushed out to my car, pulled my dick out and beat him like a rented mule. When I recovered from my swoon an old lady walking past my car sniffed her nose up at the splattering of semen on the inside of my windshield. It's not like she didn't know what it was. Rather than wait for her to call the police I eased my car out of the parking lot and drove home. If she noted my license plate number I could always claim the substance on the windshield was snot. Old people should mind their own fucking business.
In the age of Me-Too, why the FUCK should women be allowed to go to the bank in a pair of Daisy Dukes? Guys are gonna be guys!! Should I be forced to stand behind Ms. Double-Basketball Ass and pretend that my penis isn't DYING to soak in the sweat percolating between those wobbling cakes? So what if her kids are with her!!!
So the next morning I'm lying in bed. The sun's coming up. I gotta be at work in an hour. My mind drifts to the masturbatory fantasy I craft at this time every morning.
In my fantasy I'm lying in bed naked with five chicks of differing nationalities, all equally naked. On this particular morning, the blonde is Ms. Double-Basketball Ass. I'm going to call her Becky, since she and I only have that one encounter in the line at the bank. The black chick is a woman named Ayala, who works as a barrister at the local Starbucks. Ayala doesn't know me from Adam, but she sucks my dick every morning about this time, an hour or so before she serves me coffee downstairs in the lobby of the building where I work. Ayala is a straight HAMMA. Then there's this Hispanic chick whose porn name is Ambar. I'm sure that's not her real name, but if you look her up at ATK Exotics you'll have some idea of my sense of taste. Ambar's bush is unparalleled in the natural world. The Asian chick is Marica Hase. She's Japanese, and she likes the really big ones. The Indian chick is Angela Devi. Again, if you don't know her, look her up online.
In real life all of these woman sound like giggling airheads, especially the latter two. In my fantasy, however, all of them sound like Tina Turner, you know, kinda gruff and sensual, with a sneer and a knowing leer.
"You know the law. Two men enter. One man leaves."
Except I was going to be the only man who entered and left THAT day. Fuck all that sharing.
I rolled Ms. Double-Basketball Ass over onto her shoulder blades and plunged my cock into her willing pussy. Her ankles dangled from my shoulders. She was the newest member of our regular morning orgy. The other women were veterans, more or less.
Standing above her, I could see that Becky's cunt rocked a perfectly coifed golden bush, trimmed nicely along the edges and crowned with a shiny, pearly clit sheathed in feminine foreskin. My cock slid easily inside her. She closed her eyes, using her hands to lift a pink nipple up to her juicy red lips. Women enjoy having their titties sucked while getting poled. Ambar came over to squat over Becky's face. She took Becky's other titty and used the nipple to sluice her cleft. Marica and Angela were sucking each other's pussies. Ayala stepped up behind me to have a heaping helping of tossed salad. Soon enough the smell of cunt vapor permeated the room.
As per our morning ritual, I intended to fuck each and every one of these women into perdition. My cock was rampant with the animus of morning wood. I felt the luxuriant clasp of Becky's heated vagina trembling about my shaft. I could see beadlets of sweat perking up at the base of her pubic hairs, only to coagulate and trickle down into her navel, pool, and then trickle further into the valley between her breasts. She was nearing completion. I took my middle finger and jammed it into her ass. Becky howled her appreciation.
"That's it for YOU, bitch!!!"
