It's a Small World

"I really need to stop doing this shit," Leigh told herself, before digging the "Back in a Bit" sign out from under the counter, and standing it up next to the cash-register.

She peeled her panties off and put them on the shelf where the sign had been. She cussed her treacherous twat. It was already salivating in anticipation of being filled with some stranger's cock.

"God, I'm such a slut!" she thought, as she pulled the curtain aside, to step into the tiny room.

~~~

The dog walker had been browsing through the dildos for several minutes before the sex-shop employee came out of the restroom.

The young worker had ducked behind the counter and returned without the antiperspirant that had been in her hand. Now it looked like she was pulling a pair of panties on.

"Can I help you find anything?" the girl asked, finally stepping over.

Kelly fumbled over her words. "I ... uh ... it's my first time ... ack! ... first time coming ... shit!"

"It's alright," the young woman told her, "tell me what you're after. No judgement here. I just fucked some guy in the back that I've never met before because he threw $100 on the counter."

"Fuck!" the dog walker gasped. "That's more than I make all day, walking dogs."

"You can't get an STD walking a dog, though. Well ..." she smirked.

The dog walker laughed.

"Sorry," the employee said, "you get a little perverted after you've worked here long enough."

"How long have you worked here?" the pooch-girl asked.

"It's my first day," the employee replied, winking.

They both laughed until there were tears in their eyes.

"Fuck! I think I love you," Kelly told the employee. That got her a weird look.

"Buy this double-headed monster and I'll give you my address. I get off in an hour," the store employee offered.

"I have a boyfriend," the dog-walker whispered.

"You can bring him over if you want," she told the customer, "but guys pay cash. Cute girls, though ..."

Embarrassed and excited at the same time, the Rover girl grabbed the red translucent double-dong before she could change her mind, and headed for the counter.

On the way to the cash register to check her out - well - she'd already "checked her out" but ... "When did UPS stop in?" she thought, spotting the box by the front door.

~~~ Nelson Nelson ~~~

The UPS guy was across the street - at the car dealership. He, currently, had the business manager's secretary face-down on the office copier. The lid was open and her visage (and bared chest) was pressed against the glass as he shoved the package she had special-ordered in & out of her tight fuck-hole.

He hit the Copy button as she climaxed and her pussy squirted all over his legs & trousers.

"Fuck!" Nelson thought. "I'm running out of spare pants. I'm gonna have to go to the uniform shop and buy some more. There's too many fucking squirters on my route!"

He grabbed the print-out of her O-face, pulled his pants up, swatted her on the ass hard enough to leave a print that would last until he saw her again, and peeked around to steal a kiss before he snuck out to continue his deliveries.

The secretary took another ten minutes to recover. Her boss never noticed. He was still finishing his movie in Room 4, across the street.

~~~ Owen Owens, Peter Peters ~~~

Out on the lot, Manny Manford's most productive employee was trying to sell the expensive convertible that had been sitting on the lot all summer. The dealership wanted it gone ASAP.

Owen Owens liked bimbo-porn but he'd never actually seen a person he'd thought had been "bimbofied" - until today. This woman was dumber than shit. Owen could barely hold a conversation with her handler because of her incessant simpering.

The prospective customer finally said, "Look, Owen. I want this car so I can drive down the highway while she sucks my dick. You let us test it out and, if there are no problems, I pay cash - today."

"If you're going on the interstate, I need to ride along; company rules," the salesman responded.

"Fine with me," Peter said. "You can fuck her ass while she sucks me off, for all I care; no pussy, though."

The salesman looked around to see if anybody had been standing close enough to hear the conversation; he didn't see anyone.

"I'll get the keys," he said, hurrying off to track them down.

Ten minutes later, the three of them were racing down the interstate, performing the weirdest spit-roast the salesman could have ever imagined. The bimbo was face-down in her owner's lap. Mr. Peters had the cruise set and was leaning his back against the driver's door, occasionally glancing at the road. The bimbo's feet were tucked under the salesman's ass.

Said salesman was gripping her hips by hanging onto the hem of her plaid micro-skirt. He was slamming her oversized posterior (and her surprisingly-tight shit-hole) down onto his aching prick. His pants had flown out of the car as they had pulled onto the interstate. He would worry about that problem when he got back to the office. Right now, he was about 30 seconds from filling this bimbo's fudge-factory with a load of cream-filling.

Cruising along at ten miles an hour below the posted speed-limit, a line of traffic was backed up behind them, waiting for the chance to squeeze around. Unfortunately, every time a vehicle pulled up next to the convertible, it slowed down - usually long enough for several photos to be taken.

One semi driver yanked the pull-cord for his air-horn - long & hard - to show his appreciation for the show.

The bimbo got startled and gasped, sucking her master's dick farther into her throat than it had ever been. At that point, his testicles were actually inside of her mouth. She struggled to breathe, and her throat constricted - trying to eject the intruding rod (and tackle). The stimulation set her man off and he shot rope after rope of salty spunk down her gullet. He shoved her face off just before she passed out.

As she struggled, her other orifices had constricted as well. The car salesman held her hefty hiney hard against his lap as his pocket rocket shot glob after glob of cock-snot into the bimbo's backside.

~~~ Queenie Quinn, Gwen Quinn ~~~

The semi driver's wife was busy. She'd come home early from her second job and caught their middle daughter fucking some loser on the couch in the front room. She had wondered why the little slut smelled like weed all the time these days.

Queenie didn't even give the unlucky male time to get dressed before she grabbed him by his dreadlocks and flung him down the stairs. Fortunately for him, he was pretty relaxed as he made his disheveled descent. He probably wouldn't be too fucked up when he woke up from being fucked up - you know - the trip he took while he was trippin'.

Meanwhile, Queenie stalked into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest wooden spoon she had, and headed back to the front room to remind her daughter that she was still living in their home without contributing a fucking thing.

Her daughter, Gwen, realizing she was in trouble (once again), climbed out the window in her room, planning to use the trellis as a ladder - like always. She leaned back, however, when her mother swung at her with the spoon, lost her balance, and fell the rest of the way to the ground. She didn't seem to be moving.

Her mother threw the spoon at her and went to call 911.

~~~

The ambulance team was just getting their clothes back on after their marathon fuck-session. Harper had cum four times - a new personal best. Hunter had flooded her pussy twice. She prayed, once again, that the pill did its job.

They were the closest to the fall-victim's location so they hit the cherries & berries and headed that way.

Five minutes later, they opened the front door of the apartment building and - finding the unconscious pothead - retrieved the gurney from the vehicle, loaded him up, and headed to the hospital.

"I thought dispatch said it was a female," Harper said, as they took off.

"Beats the fuck out of me," her partner replied. "Those fuckers are always having fucking food-days and shit. I don't think I've ever heard half of them on the radio. God only knows what they do in that office."

~~~ Robin Robins ~~~

The bruised blonde woke up, laying in the grass, as the ambulance pulled away, carrying her late lover. She found the spoon lying beside her, reared back, and flung it at the upstairs apartment. She would have sworn it barely touched the glass - but the window shattered. She was sure she could hear her mother stomping down the stairs. She ran for it.

Her friend, Robin, lived around the corner. In her state of terror, that was the only place she could think of to seek refuge.

Gwen always had the weirdest dreams when she slept at Robin's. Her pussy was always wet when she woke up there.

~~~ Steven Stevens ~~~

Queenie ripped open the front door and leapt over the steps, landing on the sidewalk. The skateboarder was too close to stop in time and veered into the street to avoid colliding with her. Instead, he collided with an Uber driver's rear quarter-panel. The driver never noticed; his eyes were on the rear-view mirror - and his back seat - where two college coeds were eating each other out as he drove them across town. He desperately wanted to film it but he was using his phone as a GPS.

"Fuck it," he thought, "they're never gonna know if I take the right route anyway."

Steven grabbed his phone, aimed it over his shoulder, and hit 'Record'.

~~~ Tucker Tucker, Trent Trent ~~~

Tucker's heart was beating a million miles an hour! He careened off of the Uber driver's car, nearly biffed it in front of a garbage truck, and ended up in the alley across the street.

Two homeless people were fucking in a cardboard box. The scent of unwashed bodies wafted his way and he nearly hurled before he jumped back onto his board and hot-footed it out of there.

He rounded the block, ran up the stairs to his apartment, and found the light on above the door - which meant his mom had a "customer".

He stepped past his door and headed up the next flight of stairs and to see his buddy, Trent. He texted his mom and told her to let him know when she was done earning the rent money.

~~~~ Tuti Tucker ~~~

His mom didn't even hear the notification on her phone. She was desperately hoping that the five NFL linebackers, that were currently sharing her body, were going to show their appreciation for her enthusiastic attention - in the most monetary of fashions.

The five men had been at it for an hour already. Every hole Mrs. Tucker had was sore. She wasn't sure how many days she was going to be laid up. She just hoped it would be worth it.

She'd have to call the diner after they left; there was no way she'd be able to spend four hours on her feet after this long on her back.

~~~ Uri Urie, Vaughn Vaughn ~~~

Tuti's coworker, Uri, wasn't on her feet; she was on her knees, under the table, servicing a very special customer. Mr. Vaughn came in every Friday and - without fail - left Uri a 100% tip.

Vaughn was giving Tuti another tip right now. Well, actually, he wasn't just giving her the tip - she was getting the whole damned thing.

~~~

The guy sitting alone in the booth was trying to decide whether or not he should just propose to Uri, his favorite waitress. Neither of them was getting any younger and he didn't have anybody else. She was the only one who paid him any attention. Vaughn did his best to make sure she knew he appreciated it. Right now, he appreciated the fact that his balls were resting against her chin as she fellated his prick like she was trying to suck a golf ball through a garden hose.

A few minutes later, the waitress choked as the phallus in her mouth convulsed and a golf-ball sized wad of jizz squeezed down her throat.

She sucked him clean, zipped him up, and crawled out from under the table to slide into the seat next to him.

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

"I'll have to ask my husband," she replied.

He chortled at her response - until he realized she was serious.

~~~ Url Urie ~~

The cook watched the waitress crawl out from under the table. She had looked at him, pointedly, as she wiped the last of Mr. Vaughn's spend from the corner of her mouth and licked it off of her finger. He reached down and touched himself - already knowing the cock-cage was there. He was desperately hoping that she'd remove the thing and finally let him cum tonight. Url didn't even care if he got to cum in her or on her. It had been a month; he needed to ejaculate so badly he was getting migraines.

The cook looked up at the TV. The midday news was on. It looked like the weather girl was having trouble delivering the forecast.

~~~ Xavier Xavier, Whitney Whitney ~~~

The young meteorologist was struggling.

The interns had all gone out for drinks the night before. Everybody'd gotten a little trashed and they'd played Truth or Dare. Whitney Whitney had taken 'Dare'. The slut from the news-desk had lined up the males, spun a bottle, and randomly picked the second victim for the weather girl's challenge.

At the moment, the thin, perky blonde was being filmed only from the waist up. One of the more concerned interns had gone so far as to pull a screen in front of the young woman - to make sure that the viewers at home didn't get a glimpse of what was truly going on as the struggling intern stuttered and stammered through the forecast.

Behind the screen, the weather-woman was bare-ass naked from the waist down. The other intern who had been roped into this deal, Xavier, had his mouth covering the girl's mons and clitoral hood. He was sucking and gnawing on her like it was the juiciest peach. While Whitney tried to talk about temperatures and fronts, Xavier was doing his best to make the temperature of the blonde's front spike into Code Red numbers.

The filming-coordinator smashed the button - to switch cameras back to the news desk - just as the poor girl threw her fistful of papers into the air, grabbed the head of her coworker, and rode his face (and talented tongue) to the floor.

The unfortunate young man might, later, need to be evaluated for a concussion - but the diligent lad stayed on-task. By the time he had given the foxy forecaster her third orgasm, she had decided she was marrying him. Her mother would likely make some stupid comments about whether or not he was an illegal - but this boy had a golden tongue and Whitney was not about to let him go.

~~~ Enrique Enriquez, Whinny Whitney, Whit Whitney ~~~

Whitney's mother was watching the midday report but completely missed the frantic camera-work. She was, currently, riding the pool boy, Enrique Enriquez, like he was an untamed stallion - galloping across the western plains.

The young man was groping Whinny's massive mammaries as she fucked the shit out of the horse-cock. Mrs. Whitney had discovered his sizeable schlong when she'd walked out of the house, naked, while he was going about his regular duties. Suddenly her handy helper had erected a fucking circus tent in his shorts. Enrique's bitchy boss decided she wanted to be front and center for the main event.

Enrique's employer was in the habit of saying all manner of unkind things to him - and continually gave him nasty looks. However, as soon as the wanton woman had seen his monstrous member, she had yanked his shorts & boxers down and shoved her foul mouth onto the beast.

She had sucked the lad's third leg until it was painfully erect. She had, then, picked the young man up, carried him to a pool-lounger, laid him upon it like a Mayan sacrifice - and mounted him - shoving his offering deep into her sacred place.

The boy was still amazed at the fact that his miserable mistress hadn't even gawped when she'd seen the size of his ponderous prick. When most women saw it, they shrank away in fear; the look in her eyes had been unadulterated lust.

At that moment, the woman's husband, Whit Whitney, walked out of the house. He had come home for lunch and, finding no one inside, stepped through the patio doors to discover his wife fucking the hired help.

Mr. Whitney removed his pants & briefs and stepped across the head of the chair (and its occupant's head). The poor pool-boy closed his eyes - trying to unsee the boss' ass-crack - as the man presented his needy fuck-nozzle to his spouse for some oral attention. She tried to accommodate him but she was too busy bouncing.

The problem was quickly rectified. The weathergirl's father offered his bride his hand and she stood. The pool boy got to his feet as well. The tyrannical temptress took the young man's place on the lawn-chair, laying it all the way back.

The loving wife's gullet was soon busy swallowing her husband's goad, as his goodies bounced against her nose. Meanwhile, the pool boy was preoccupied with pistoning his massive manhood into her tenacious twat.

The powerfully proportioned hired-hand - who had to use two hands just to masturbate - had finally found a pussy big enough to handle his horse-rod. He hammered her twat hard enough to make M.C. Hammer proud - and he wasn't stopping until he came at least twice; it was hammer time!

~~~ Walter Walters ~~~

The nasty news intern who had made the life-changing dare was seething. She'd intended to embarrass the innocent little twat-faced forecaster but the whole news-crew was busy celebrating her gushing proposal to the caramel-colored camera-man.

She stomped off to her dressing room. As she went, she shouldered the make-up artist out of the way, throwing him into some rigging. His boyfriend, Walter Walters, helped him up, making sure he was okay.

The two of them headed to HR to make sure the hateful bitch was gone by the end of the day; nobody needed to put up with that kind of drama on the job. On the way through the building, the enraged boyfriend caught one of the prop-boys' collars and whispered something in his ear. The young man's look turned violent and he nodded, heading for the parking lot.

~~~ Vicki Vick ~~~

By the time the nasty newscaster left the building, she had four flat tires. She called AAA and then bitched about the estimate for how long it would take roadside assistance to get to her. Vicki Vick turned - to go back inside - and found that her keycard no longer worked.

She waited by the exit, expecting someone to come out so she could catch the door - but no one came. She looked up, noticed a security camera covering the entrance, and flipped the bird at the device.

~~~ Zachary Zachary ~~~

In the security office, Zachary Zachary was busy posting a fake social media account under the bitch's name. He added the image of her flipping the world off as the profile picture.

Within minutes, the offers to give her the "merciless ass-fucking", that she had begged for in the account's virgin post, started pouring into her phone.

She deleted them all - all except the one from the guy who had a dick that looked like a hockey-stick. She'd need to see if that one was legit.

~~~ Abe Abrams, Brad Bradley ~~~

The AAA driver was currently at the tire store. There was only one register open. There were like a hundred people in line. Abe phoned his boss - to tell him he was going to be delayed. His boss told him to stick it out. He informed him that the woman on the phone had been a complete twat and that there wasn't much they could do - since she needed four new tires. His boss had commented that it was pretty obvious that the mouthy cunt had pissed somebody off and gotten a little visit from karma.

In the manager's office, Brad Bradley, was "interviewing" the new cashier. She was going to fit in well. He would put her out front just as soon as she was finished licking his cock clean.

He thought about the girl she was replacing. "That twat was always calling in sick. I'll text her and tell her she's fired. I knew - when she fucked up her interview - I should have never hired her. Curse my damned itty-bitty-titty fetish!"