Fuck Around and Find Out - Pt. 02

So instead of taking a seat, I walked up to him, swaying as seductively as I could manage, and dropped to my knees between his thighs.

I tried to think of something clever and sexy to say, to add to the illusion that I was a lusty teenaged girl eager to serve him, to reward him for taking me to the prom, but I couldn't come up with anything.

I reached up and undid his belt buckle, and unsnapped the button above the fly of his slacks. He planted his feet and pushed his butt up off the sofa, and helped me draw his pants down his thighs. He was wearing black briefs, and they were bulging. I put my fingers into the waistband and drew them down.

And there it was. My heart was pounding as I came face to face with Mack Truck's cock. The second one, other than my own, that I had ever seen up close and personal. But whereas Luke Wallace's schlong had first appeared to me hanging down, heavy and dangerous, awaiting my attentions to bring it to life, Truck was already engorged. And he was all knob.

In my limited exposure to porn, I had not seen anything like this. It really was a giant mushroom, a plump lavender half-globe atop a relatively slender, pale stalk emerging from a dense thicket of straw-colored pubic hair. Frankly, it was as far from attractive as Truck was.

I gently wrapped my right hand around the shaft -- one hand was all it took -- and used my thumb to lightly swipe the glistening drop of pre-cum that had gathered at the single eye of his oddly-shaped trouser toad. Then I drew the lubricant down and tickled at what I knew was the sensitive wrinkled flesh just below it.

Truck jerked upwards like he had received an electric shock. Then he exhaled and relaxed a bit, and as I looked up at him I saw he had opened his eyes and was watching me intently. I wondered what I looked like from his vantage point -- on my knees between his wide-spread thighs, my shoulders bare except for the narrow straps that held up a shimmering prom dress. I wondered if I looked ridiculous and pathetic -- like I felt -- or whether maybe with my tousled hair and admittedly clear complexion and pink lips and blue eyes looking up at him, if I might pass for sexy. Like I also felt.

I wondered if the girl who had given this dress to Goodwill had knelt before her date after her prom and worshipped his cock. Like I was getting ready to worship Mack Truck.

I leaned forward and placed my tongue on the fleshy underside of his cock, aware now of a clean but musky scent that was finally able to cut through the scent of his cologne. I drew my tongue up, flicking back and forth across his frenulum, and finally gathering up the next droplet of salty pre-ejaculate that had already pooled around the slit.

"Fuck..." he hissed. But it sounded like an oath of approval.

I placed my lips on his glans and kissed it, then parted them and began to lick around it, tracing my way around the pronounced ridge at the top, then back down to the indentation at the bottom. With my other hand, I sought out his ball sack, which was hairy and wrinkled like a walnut and drawn up tightly against the base of his shaft. But it was soft to the touch, and I could feel the way his testicles moved around inside it, recoiling from my unfamiliar touch, then relaxing against my fingers. I felt his hand on my head, his fingers moving through my curly hair, exploring, not forcibly.

I had to open my mouth almost as wide as it would go to engulf his knob, and I drew it in carefully, making sure not to scrape it with my teeth. He gasped, and by the time I cleared his corona and closed my lips around his shaft, I felt like my mouth was already full. I could feel the spongy flesh yielding, compressed against the roof of my mouth. I wanted to bob up and down on him, but could only take in another inch at most.

He began flexing his hips, probably instinctively, moaning slightly. I responded with a muted moan or two of my own, consciously, intentionally, using the seal of my lips to caress the veins on his shaft, mapping them, committing them to memory. I wanted to make this good for him.

But not too good. I wasn't opposed to the idea of sucking him to completion, letting him spurt his first pent-up load into my mouth. The notion was shockingly hot. And he was an eighteen-year-old virgin; I had no doubt he would recover quickly. But I really didn't want to make small talk during his refractory period.

Apparently, we were still on the same page. I didn't know how long I had been there, fellating Truck on my knees. Maybe five minutes, because the last song on the album side concluded and I could hear the turntable arm lifting and returning to its cradle, leaving us in ominous silence. And then Truck leaned forward and put his hands under my bare arms and lifted me up.

He stood up and kicked his shoes off from where his slacks had pooled around them, and then shook himself free. He offered me one hand, almost gallantly, and I took it and let him help me up. Then he put his hands on my waist and maneuvered me onto the other end of the sofa, my dress hiking up around the tops of my thighs, my pretty stocking tops and garter straps coming into view. And then he got on his knees between my legs.

I thought he might take off my panties at this point, but he simply pulled them to one side.

I had had this fantasy for weeks now; it had become very specific as I had played it over and over again in my mind. I had imagined watching my penis and balls bounce around as I got fucked, but I wasn't going to see that. As I had considered, Truck probably didn't want that vivid a reminder that he was having a homosexual encounter. He wanted, or needed, to maintain the illusion that I was a girl. Well...

... the moment I had spread my slender legs and let him settle his 240-pound frame between them, I should have known that from that point on, I would be getting whatever Truck wanted. And I found that idea thrilling.

After weeks of denying and obsessing about and embracing this lurid scenario, I was on my back with my ponderous, homely friend Truck on his knees between my stocking clad legs, a shiny prom dress hiked up around my waist and obscuring my flat chest, just like I had imagined, except for being on Truck's family room sofa instead of the backseat of his car. But at the crucial moment, as he reached down with one hand and began to draw his huge, fleshy knob up and down over my puckered anus, he was ever so slightly changing the script, as if telling me, "Sorry, Marti, we're going to do it my way from here on out."

So god damn hot.

I watched him twist around and retrieve the tube of lubricant with his other hand, out of the purse that I had so obviously left open, displaying nothing but a lipstick and lube. He squirted a large dollop over his swollen glans, and began to work it down the shaft, using his other hand to offer the lube to me.

Of course. He was getting ready to stick his dick up into my clenching little asshole, but he wasn't comfortable touching me there with his fingers. What a newbie. Whereas I had a world of experience. Whatever. I quickly applied a generous glob on myself, and used my middle finger to work it in.

I recalled that once Luke had lubed himself up and got me in The Position, he had just lined his cock up and pushed it in. There had been resistance and short-lived pain, but there had never been any question that He Was Going In.

Truck's knob was so big, and so soft and spongy (as knobs are), that it wasn't getting a foothold, so to speak, in my anal ring, even as I tried to relax, tried to help out by pushing back against it. I briefly worried... oh, shit, what if after all this, he's not hard or aroused enough to get it in?

I wanted humiliation. What's more humiliating than dressing as a girl and offering up your ass for the pleasure of the ugliest guy in school? Well... maybe, doing all that and finding out, "Nah, this isn't exciting enough. You're not worthy of fucking..."

And just then, he found just the right angle, and pop!, I felt a couple of inches pushing into me. "Unngh!!!" I heard myself groan, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, a quarter mile away. It hurt, yes, but I already knew that I would adapt to it. I knew his glans was inside me now, and what I could feel myself squeezing with my sphincter was the much firmer shaft just behind his crown. And any shortcomings he might have had in terms of rigidity were quickly resolved, as I felt him responding to the rhythmic pulsing that my anus was doing around him.

Mack's dick was in my ass.

Mack Truck's dick was in my ass!

Oh Jesus, what had I done? I had let my hormone-addled teenaged mind trick me into forgetting how much this hurt and how shameful it was.

"Fuuuuuckkk..." he moaned, holding his cock motionless inside me as we adjusted to each other, but lowering himself down onto his elbows so his stomach spread out over mine and I could feel the heat from his chest hovering just over me. And the astringent aroma of his aftershave enveloping me.

"Jesus, Marti, that feels so good," he hissed.

"Uh huh?" I gasped out, sounding unsure of myself. Of course it feels good to you, you jerk, I thought; although I figured it would feel good to me, too, soon enough.

I was genuinely overwhelmed with sensation, but not beyond hamming it up a bit. I had to remember that he was the virgin; I was the wanton seductress, at least in his mind. "So... big," I grunted, giving him what I knew he must crave. He slipped in a little more, and I added, "So... full..." even though I really wasn't, yet.

He started moving inside me, very short little thrusts, no more than an inch. The sloppy wet friction already felt more good than bad, soothing rather than irritating my still-protesting anal ring.

I had explored myself enough to know how much wider my rectum got after the first couple of inches, and now I could imagine Truck's big mushroom head expanding to the size of a tennis ball inside me, his broad crown massaging every billowing wall with each short, insistent stroke.

"Mack," I whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me," I told him.

And so he did. Oh, God, did he.

Truck had no skill, no technique. But he had 240 pounds to put behind the blunt instrument with which he was pummeling my insides. I felt myself moving my stockinged thighs up around his legs, around his thick waist. He leaned forward, looming over me now, thankfully taking his weight on his elbows. The mass of him was still overwhelming. Almost as overwhelming as his cologne. God, it was like driving past a chemical plant.

Almost instinctively, I found my hands running up Truck's sides, then under his shirt and up over his back, pulling him into an embrace, holding on against the coming onslaught. I quivered as I realized that I could feel the pimples and acne scars on his back against my palms and the undersides of my forearms. The rest of his body was no more appealing than his face, but this was the body that was enjoying mine, impaling mine, claiming mine.

One of the things I remembered about getting fucked by Luke, after the initial pain subsided, was how insanely erotic it felt to sense the depth of each stroke. I really hadn't felt anything inside me but fullness and pressure, but as my sphincter adjusted to him, it had felt so exciting to feel every centimeter of his shaft sliding through it, so unbelievably much of it, feeling like he was even longer than he was, impossibly long, my God could he be that long? My God is he going to come out my throat?

Truck wasn't giving me that. His thrusts just didn't last as long. I could feel the hot flesh easing into me, making my anus sing, like a rock vocalist holding a note for a full measure; but just as I was looking forward to another four beats of that trembling note, I would feel his wiry pubic hair against my scrotum and his balls pressing up against my perineum, and he was all the way in, and then pulling back out again.

It was different, but Truck was giving me what he had, and he was giving me his all, and that was exciting too. I was plenty stretched open. The sense of fullness from the bulbous presence inside me was unmistakable. If anything, his big knob was probably nudging that one little sensitive place with every stroke instead of doing all of its work further up inside me. Yeah, that worked.

I realized my eyes had been shut, and so I opened them and looked up at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth a twisted grimace. Then suddenly he opened his eyes, and we were gazing at each other -- or at least, I was gazing at him, and he was looking back at me with one eye, while the other wandered off to his right. Our faces inches apart.

He parted his lips as if to say something; but instead, a trickle of drool accidentally slipped out and landed on my upper lip. Gross. But I was in no position, or mood, to protest.

And it scarcely mattered that I had his saliva on my lips, because then he leaned down and smashed his mouth against mine. Ugh, Truck was kissing me. I hadn't contemplated that. But incredibly, I was kissing him back. It was so wrong and so natural. His thick tongue probed into my mouth, and I let my tongue swirl around it; then when he withdrew it, I let mine follow, into his mouth.

He sealed his lips around my tongue and sucked. Almost too hard. But not quite.

Oh, God. I was kissing Truck.

I was fucking Truck.

I was making love to Truck.

Well, let's not get carried away, I managed to tell myself.

But something else was happening. The first time I did this, I recalled, one of the powerful sensations -- one of the things that made me have to try it again -- was the sense of being on the edge of an orgasm for several minutes in a row.

I was feeling that again, but I suddenly realized that I wasn't on the edge anymore. I was... oh, oh, oh... I was cumming...

My cock had worked its way up out of waistband of my pretty panties and was pinned between my stomach and his, and now I felt it, the first spurt of my orgasm rocketing up through it, throbbing against him. Then I felt it, warm and wet, spreading out over my belly and the folds of my bunched-up prom dress and the lacy garter belt around my waist.

And he felt it, too, I knew; if he didn't feel my cock twitching against him, he surely felt the involuntary spasming of my anus, choking his shaft mid-thrust. He paused in his relentless in-and-out for a moment, and groaned, then pushed all the way in, and held still.

The sound that he made, alerting me of his orgasm a full second before I could feel it myself, was bestial. But it wasn't the bellow of a bull elephant. It sounded more like the death rattle of a water buffalo. And then I felt him pulsing inside me, and I knew that Mack Truck was inseminating my bowels.

I didn't realize how hard I had been breathing until I started to catch my breath. Truck sat up on his haunches, still buried in me. He was still wearing his rayon shirt, although several buttons had come undone, both at the neckline, and one right in the middle of his burgeoning pot belly.

If you eroticize humiliation and shame, wait until you experience a post-orgasmic slump while the ugliest guy in school still has his fat dick slowly softening inside your well-greased ass. That takes the cake.

When he leaned back and finally slipped out of me with a plop, I could feel slimy liquid seeping out of me, down my crack. Lube, and semen, and who knows what else. Good thing he had laid out a towel.

"Heh," he mumbled. Then, "heh heh." That sounded more like a laugh. An evil one.

"Yeah," was all I offered in response.

"I wanna do it again," he growled.

Oh. Huh. Jesus, once again, I hadn't thought that far ahead. And I had just had an orgasm of my own. I had kind of planned on getting the hell out of here at this point. But I had gone to a lot of trouble, and after all, I was his prom date.

"C'mon, Dinah Moe," he chortled, making a Frank Zappa reference. "Buns up kneelin'."

Oh, Christ.

"Get me ready," he commanded. Followed by that wicked, "Heh heh."

Anyway, I was wrong about what takes the cake. If you get off on humiliation and shame, wait until you lower your face into the pungent, matted crotch of the ugliest guy in school and take his fat, limp, sticky penis into your mouth and coax him back to life.

So I ended up with my face on the hot velour of Truck's parents' sofa, on my shoulders and knees, as he placed his big hands on my plump little buttocks and parted them and pushed back inside me again. Chortling now, with that "Heh heh... Heh heh" chuckle. Gaining in confidence. And, relieved of the need for that first orgasm, ready now to go on a Slow Ride.

We hadn't bothered to put any music on, but I have no doubt he would have fucked me right through "Stairway to Heaven," "Free Bird," and "Green Grass and High Tides" back-to-back. I just closed my eyes and let it happen. I felt his hands move all over me. In this position, he could push my dress up and caress my back, or pull it down and use it for leverage as he sawed into me. He could stroke his hands down my thighs to my stocking tops or grab me by the shoulders to pound into me harder. He could place a hand around the back of my neck and let me know, without so many words, that he owned me. "Heh heh... heh heh."

I didn't cum this time. But I did revisit that frustrating, infuriating, exquisite sensation of being on the edge of cumming. For maybe half an hour. Until he splattered my insides again with his jism. It was a good thing I couldn't get pregnant, I thought. I'd be knocked up for sure. So much for Cornell. I'd have to marry Truck and bear him a brood of ugly, irrationally arrogant babies.

I think after his second orgasm inside me, Mack was as emotionally spent as I was. He didn't say much as I finally got up and went back to the bathroom. I sponged off with a washcloth, and then rinsed and rinsed and rinsed it before hanging it up. Then I put my shorts and t-shirt and Adidas running shoes back on.

When I came out, Mack had pulled his pants back on. He still looked disheveled -- well, more disheveled than usual, that is. And he had got into his dad's liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of something brown.

I could use something myself, I thought. But I didn't trust myself. I needed to go, and drive around for a couple of hours until I knew for sure my parents had gone to bed.

I summoned up one last burst of confidence to role-play. I walked up to him, with my panties crumpled in one hand, and when I was face to face with him, I jammed them into his breast pocket. A souvenir of our date.

"Thanks for taking me to the prom," I said.

He walked me to the door.

I had a sudden urge to push up on my tiptoes and give him an affectionate peck on the lips. But no, not now; I had removed the costume that made this insane little charade possible. I was back in my boy clothes.

I did it anyway.

***

A group of us were in the high school parking lot, getting ready to play basketball. Nine of us, including some underclassmen. I felt my heartrate pick up when Truck's Monte Carlo pulled into the lot.

He pulled himself out of the driver's seat and stretched. He was tall and chunky in his mis-matched tank top and gym shorts. He looked goofy, pulling a headband around his mop of hair.

"Let's do it, dudes," he called as he strode toward us, as if the game couldn't start without him. I fell into step beside him as we headed for the court.

"Truck!!?!" I heard Greg Turner call out from behind me. We all turned toward him. He was near the passenger door of Mack's car, pointing into it with a wild-eyed expression on his face.

Pointing at the ivory panties hanging from the rearview mirror.

"What the fuck, dude?" Greg continued. "You been holdin' out on us?"