Hookups with Trina Ch. 03: No Free Ride

Note to self, Trina: I don't care how bad it tastes, never EVER spit in the car.

Malcolm is a pretty reliable guy. Street smart and tool savvy, knows how to jump-start a car, can fix anything that runs on batteries. Not the hottest thing on two legs, but he keeps fit. Big biceps, killer pecs, and when he's hitting the gym regularly, a washboard stomach that could withstand a cannonball.

So, it's Friday. I'm at the bar, pregaming for my old friend Renee's bachelorette party. I'm flirting with some college kids for free drinks when I realize that I'm suddenly in no shape to drive across town to her place. I can't be bothered to order an Uber, but since Malcolm lives only half a mile from the booze joint, I shoot him a text:

"If you've ever loved me or had fun blowing spunk up my trunk, come give me a ride."

Of course, I'm five shots of Jose Cuervo into the evening at four PM, after having eaten nothing all day but three hot wings and some bar olives, so the text itself comes out garbled. A real zero-punctuation crime against second grade grammar. But somehow, Malcolm decodes the gist and swings by in his blue Ford Mustang.

He's all spiffed up when he arrives, wearing some nice khaki pants and a white, cotton shirt with the top three buttons undone. He's slicked back his shoulder-length blonde hair and trimmed his wolfish goatee to a slick, inverted triangle in his chin. Whether he rolled out of bed looking so stylish or he made a special slapdash effort on my part, I'm far too buzzed to ask.

I sling myself into his passenger's seat, catching the tail of my black cocktail dress in the door. While I'm struggling to unstick it, Malcolm grabs me by the chin and pulls me into a French kiss.

I hope he doesn't mind the taste of cheap tequila, and that he doesn't get pulled over for a breathalyzer. I let him play with my tongue, even if I'm not a huge fan of his brand of mouthwash. Then again, Malcolm always has been a good kisser, especially when he has another appendage jammed inside me, along with the tongue. One of the only guys I've ever let finish in my ass without a condom on repeat occasions.

He hits the turnpike and asks, "So, Trina, who's party are ya crashin' tonight?"

I check myself in the visor mirror. My hair looks great, raven dark with fresh layering from the salon. It looks so chic, cascading onto my shoulders. My makeup, on the other hand, seems okay at a glance but appears smudged upon closer inspection. "It's Renee's bachelorette party," I say. "And I've got an invitation."

"An invite? Really? That's a new one for ya."

"It seemed like a fun change of pace, being somewhere I'm actually supposed to be for once. It should keep everyone on their toes." I dig around in my purse, locating my cosmetic kit beneath a mess of tampons and half-full Tic-Tac boxes. "Do you have plans for tonight? If you're free, maybe you want to be one plus-one?"

"Me? Ah, hell, no, I'm lousy at parties. I can mingle for maybe ten minutes before I gotta, like, wander off and make friends with the dog."

"Though not with the cat..."

"Gee-aahd!" I watch his skin crawl. "Goddamn, Trina, why'd ya have to remind me of THAT?"

Malcolm HATES cats. If anyone wants to point fingers, I'm the girl to blame. Once while some psycho ex was threatening to chop off his penis and stuff it in his mouth, I let Malcolm crash at my place. Though I had offered to let him share the bed, he stationed himself on the couch, for fear that the ex would catch us under the covers and turn grievous bodily harm into a double-murder.

Middle of the night, I awoke to the sounds of shattered glass and blood-curdling screams. Half-naked, I scrambled out of bed and charged into the living room, brandishing an empty bottle of wine as a weapon.

There was my cat Koko, hissing atop the coffee table.

And there was Malcolm, cowering behind the couch, shrieking, "Keep that thing away from me! It's evil!"

I said, "Calm DOWN, Malcolm! It's just Koko! He's harmless!"

"The hell he is! The Goddamn thing tried to fuck my leg!"

I scooped Koko from the coffee table and stroked his bristled fur, trying to make peace between the two. But anytime I brought the cat near him, Malcolm would scream and dash to the farthest corner of the apartment. So, I put Koko in the bathroom for the night and convinced Malcolm to hide with me beneath the sheets. Traumatized and jangle-nerved as he was, I couldn't help getting a kick every time I purred in his ear and watched him leap out of his skin.

In the driver's seat of the Ford, Malcolm says, "That Goddamn thing's a menace. I can't even knock on your door anymore without fear of inter-species rape."

"Oh, please. Koko's never fucked anyone I know. At least, not against their will."

Malcolm cringes from head to toe. "Ya oughta get that thing clipped. If not for me, for the sake of society. Goddamn cat should be on a pervert's registry."

"So should I." I swipe some smeared foundation from my cheeks, reapplying a new layer with the help of the visor mirror. "I could never have poor Koko fixed. It's just a professional courtesy amongst us perverts."

"At least keep that little fucker locked in the bathroom or somethin' when I come around next. I don't mind pissin' off your balcony."

"You wouldn't be the first to do it."

I graduate from foundation to a fresh layer of lipstick. I'm starting on my eyeliner when I feel Malcolm's hand light upon the small of my back. Warmth pulses from his massive, work-beaten palm as he plays Up the Ladder with the rungs of my spine. Slowly, he positions his digits between my shoulder blades, applying slight pressure forwards and down.

I'm honestly surprised that it's taken him this long. Whenever we find ourselves alone - as long as there's no a psycho ex on his conscience - Malcolm is sure to proposition me twice before I even set down my purse. Not that I'm prone to decline the offer, not with a cock like his and our mutual understanding that it's just a fuck, no strings attached. But come on, TIMING. Even I'M not frothy and horned up twenty-four hours a day.

"You know, Malcolm, I'm going to a party here..."

"Yeah, Renee's bachelorette. Ya mentioned a couple minutes back."

"And I'm supposed to be getting ready for it..."

"Ya look great. I love the hair. I love the dress." His palm makes small circles upon my back, pressing ever deeper into my bra strap, still trying to maneuver me towards his lap. "I even love that color lipstick."

"It's called Harlot Peach." Applying the last bit of eyeliner, I hunch forward in the seat, away from his hand. "And you wouldn't be-LIEVE how hard these days."

Malcolm's hand follows me. "It's looks good. It tastes GREAT. That little preview ya gave me was DE-licious. Kinda makes me wanna try another sample."

"You're still free to be my plus-one..."

"Wouldn't that be just the thing, though. I'd come inside with ya, smile, shake all the girls' hands, tell Renee congrats, act real sweet. Once I've got 'um all fooled that I'm a gentleman, I'd drag ya into the bathroom and yank that dress up to around your waist. I'd jam it right in ya. Right up in that sweet, hot stuff, ready or not."

Now, he's got me tasting my own lipstick, wondering why I'm even bothering to abstain. Yes, it's my friend's big day. Yes, I've just finished my makeup. But come on! His cock is RIGHT THERE!

Easy, Trina. Test the waters before diving in headfirst.

I lick my lips into a sly smile, slipping a flirty edge into my voice. "Malcolm...! Don't be messing up my clothes...! I've put a lot of effort into looking presentable tonight." In the visor mirror, I give my reflection an evil wink. "I'm even wearing my panties..."

"Those fuckin' things don't stand a chance. Me and my bad boy'll tear right through 'um, no problem."

"But Malcolm, I only have one condom! And I may need that for an emergency...!"

"Since when's that stopped us before? Bareback, pullout or cream pie, I'm always ready for action around your holes." His palm migrates to the back of my head, his fingers kneading my hair. "I'll leave ya with a gap in your cervix and a warm mess runnin' down your thighs."

I quiver from my asshole to my toenails, trying not to let it show. "But you said that you didn't want to come in with me..."

"No, but the GPS says we've still got eight-nine minutes before we get there." He opens his knees to reveal his horse-choker of a cock, pitching a tent in the seat of his khakis. "Eight-nine minutes, Trina. You can work that fast, right?"

"Malcolm...! Are you reducing me and my skills to a time limit...?"

Hand clamped to the back of my head, he lifts his groin from the driver's seat. "All I'm sayin' is the clock's tickin'. And the ride ain't free." He clicks his tongue, counting down the seconds.

Well, Trina, girl, fair is fair. He's made the effort to drive over here and get you. And you know how you hate to let a good cock go to waste.

I check the road for peeping toms. With the coast clear, I unbuckle and let the hand on the back of my head guide my into Malcolm's lap. He keeps his other hand on the wheel and makes me do all the work, ripping open his khakis.

His musky scent wafts from his boxers into my face. My eyes roll back in their sockets as I inhale his wall of pheromones. I find his erection with my hand. Hot and thick and just shy of seven inches long. Not the most massive hunk of meat I've even held, but Holy Fuck, if it hasn't always felt great, going up inside me.

I am just DYING to meow and hear him shriek. But he's driving, and it's not all that far to Renee's house. Better stay focused.

Cock in hand, I bat my eyebrows seductively at Malcolm. He keeps his face to the road, but I can see him smirking down at me.

I circle my tongue around his meaty glans, slowly opening my mouth and slurping it inside. I bob my head up and down the first inch of his shaft. It grows even harder between my lips, though not as rock solid as when I know he's about to cum. I accept the rest of him gradually into my mouth, half an inch at a time, until my nose reaches pubic hair.

Malcolm grunts, his pelvis and killer abs rocking against me. "Seven minutes," he says.

I cradle his balls in one hand. I roll them between my fingers. It's so much fun, sucking him down to the root while tugging on his nuts, first soft, then hard. I yank the pair of them to the very threshold of his scrotum, only relaxing my grip when he gasps for air.

His eyes bulge pleasantly out of his skull. "Goddamn, you do that good, Trina!"

There's nothing like sitting back on your cocksucking laurels and saying, "You know it, babe." But my mouth is still full, and Malcolm's got me on a timer. So, I full-on deepthroat him, gagging sloppily on his head.

He presses the back of my skull into his crotch, fucking upwards into my face. "Ah! Hell, yeah! Five minutes."

What the fuck happened to six? Alright, Trina, girl, no time to waste. I quit dancing around and kick it into high gear. I bury my face in his pubes, his glans wedged deep in my esophagus. I slurp down lungfuls of saliva as I slather every inch of his shaft with my sex-crazed tongue.

While my gums are busy, I put my mind to work. "Come on, Malcolm, cum," I try to say telepathically. "Use my comfy little mouth to make you feel good. Skull-fuck your passenger and take her throat as payment for the ride. Empty your balls into my belly. Fill me with it. Get me even drunker off it. Malcolm...oh, Malcolm...Malcolm, be a good buddy and just finish already, will you?"

His pelvis rocks against me. "Four minutes," he groans.

I bob and twist my head, tugging on his balls. My free hand slips up his shirt. I cat-scratch his abs and purr into his urethra. His hard muscles throb against my fingers, responding much more pleasantly than he ever has for my actual feline at home. His innate ailurophobia lies forgotten somewhere on the road behind us as he fucks the pussy in my throat.

Drool and precum flood my mouth. His shaft swells, growing harder...harder...

A strangled, "THREEEEEE!" rattles the windows. The veins of his testicles pulse in my hand as I tug on his scrotum and extract all but the very tip of his dick. I pinch the meaty glans between my Harlot Peach lips and let him pump my mouth full of cum.

Maybe it's because I'm half-drunk from pregaming, but only once I've squeezed the last drop of semen from his deflating prick does the flavor hit me.

I've been poisoned! Sweet Salome and all the Saint of Fuck, his spunk tastes like DEATH! A stale, rotten, evil, refused-by-the-sperm-clinic-and-resold-from-a-back-alley-vender- cut-with-shoe-polish taste!

I'm gagging, turning green. Malcolm is only laughing. "I meant to warn ya," he says. "It's been all fried food and black coffee, all weekend, for this guy!"

I slap a hand over my mouth and try to scream, "You nasty fuck!" but I accidentally gargle on the toxic jizz.

Malcolm is pulling off the Turnpike. By his count, only two minutes to Renee's place. I roll down the window and stick out my head and spew the entire mouthful at the road. But my angle must be wrong because the wind catches the semen and flings it back at me.

Worst. Facial. Ever. Cum in my eyelids, cum up my nostrils. Literally the only silver lining is that it somehow misses my hair. I'd scream, but then, it would run right back into my mouth.

Sperm-blinded, I fumble in my purse for a packet of tissues. I swab myself clean in the visor mirror, no longer all that concerned how my makeup looks as long as I get Malcolm's semen right the hell off me.

I am SO going to sneak into his apartment and set Koko on his chest while he's sleeping.

He cackles to himself as we pull onto Renee's street. Cum-rags in hand, I glare at him. "And just what in the fuck is so funny?"

Wiping a tear from his eye, Malcolm points at what's left of my makeup. "That. And this." He aims his finger at his limp cock, dyed from tip to base with Peach Harlot lipstick.

Even with the taste of the world's worst cum-shot lingering on my tongue, I've got to laugh, too. Good old Malcolm. He can always make me smile, even as he makes a mess of my every orifice and outfit.

As he finally pulls up to the house, I gather my purse and say, "Thank you for the ride, Malcolm. I really appreciate it...I think."

He tucks his lipstick-stained cock into his khakis. "My pleasure. Ya gonna need a lift back home?"

I open my door and place a foot upon the sidewalk. "Uh, not until you get some pineapple in your diet."

"Ya at least gonna tip your cabbie?" He stretches across the seat, ready for a goodbye French kiss.

I lean forward to meet him. At the last moment, I jerk back and stuff the sperm-soaked wad of tissues into his opened mouth. My purse and I flee across the yard, laughing.

Behind me, a gagging Malcolm calls, "Hey, lady! Ya forgot your change!"

Over my shoulder, I shout back, "Keep it! It's ALL YOURS!" Then, I head into Renee's bachelorette party, stopping first in the bathroom to redo my makeup from scratch, then running to the bar to cleanse my palette with several stiff, girly drinks.