Lesbian Pimp Records Vol. 01

"You're a fantastic fuckin cocksucker!" Wesley declared, groaning as he buried his face in the girl's ass, the attention from her mouth was quickly threatening to send him over the edge.

"Just wait until I swallow you with my other hole." Lena grinned, rolling off of him as she reached down, hooking her thumbs into the band of her panties as she tugged them down and tossed them aside.

Her mouth met Wesley's in a firm kiss as she climbed on top of him, her hands on his shoulders as he reached up, cupping her soft, small breasts, rolling them gently in his fingers. After a few moments, he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging in the big, brown paper bag of bedroom supplies for a condom. He grabbed it and Lena grinned, shaking her head.

"No, I want it bare. I want to feel this big motherfucker." She grinned, reaching between her legs to firmly grip the base of Wesley's cock, her other hand grabbing the condom and tossing it back onto the nightstand. She rubbed the fat, throbbing tip of his cock against her warm, wet hole and grinned, her tongue snaking out, slipping between his lips as she slowly lowered herself on his cock.

Her body shuddered as she reached the base, her tiny ass feeling completely filled by the thick, throbbing cock. Groaning, she slowly began to rock her hips back and forth, her ass sliding back and forth on his cock, the thick head flaring as it throbbed excitedly.

"Ah! Fuck! More!" Wesley gasped, hands gripping the girl's narrow waist as she slowly rode his cock, letting her have a chance to adjust to his girth.

"Mmm you're a fuckin' big boy aren't you? I've never had this much cock inside of me, short of taking two at once." She grinned and slowly began to move faster, rocking her soft, small brown ass against his cock over and over again. Her hot, pink little lovehole slurping his thick meat up like it was a warm, willing mouth.

She rode him hard like that for several minutes, her eyes clamped shut as she rode the waves of near orgasmic pleasure that rocked her body over and over again. Her tight brown ass swallowing the length of the thick, white cock again and again. Slowly she sat up, his cock balls deep inside of her as she leaned backwards, her hands gripping his ankles as she moved her hips hard and fast.

Her long, brown cock was stiff and resting against Wesley's stomach as she rode him hard, rocking her hips almost roughly as she sighed and moaned. She let out a yelp and then a giggle as Wesley wrapped his hand around her cock and slowly began to stroke it in slow, short strokes. His hand gliding gently over her swelled head and the top of her shaft as she moaned loudly, biting her lip.

"I'm gonna cum!" Wesley announced, his hand quickly stroking her smooth brown cock.

"Inside! Let it all inside, I wanna be your little brown cumdump!"

"Urgh you dirty slut!" Wesley growled, his balls tightening as a prelude to shooting his well built up load. After a few moments more of quick stroking Lena tensed and came. Thick, red hot ropes of cum sprayed from the tip of her cock and onto Wesley's stomach, leaving it glistening with several thick strands of creamy white.

Lena shuddered from the force of the orgasm, her hands gripping Wesley's shoulders tightly as she bounced on his cock, trying to give her lover full release as well. And after a few moments he growled, his body tensing as his hips thrust hard upwards again and again. His thick cock spraying a thick load of creamy white cum deep into the woman's ass, his balls clenched painfully tight as a powerful orgasm washed over him.

After a few moments they collapsed into each other's arms, panting for breath.

***

"Get up you godless heathens!" Wesley shouted from the stove.

The center of the second floor of the record shop was a very large living space that took up the entire floor. The middle of the floor had a large kitchen with an L-Shaped bar counter complete with stools and still left room for a large dining table and chairs, living room with tv, sofas and deep cushy armchairs. Along the far left wall were three extra-large bedrooms, along with the far right wall, for a total of six. These were deemed the 'apartments.'

Three along one wall were for Wesley, Grote and Spike, deemed the 'boys' side, the other three for Emily, Luna and a spare that sat empty, the 'girls.' The outside of the boy's rooms were decorated with 1940's style pinup girls and posters, some Boston Bruins hockey jerseys thumb tacked to the wall. A Guinness dartboard and bar mirror with some vintage reproductions of old IRA recruitment posters tacked up here and there, and of course, a small American flag, and an Irish flag pinned up side-by-side.

The wall and doors of the girl's side was painted a soft, velvety pink color, the doors and door frames painted a vivid white. There were bouquets of fresh flowers in vases on little stands in the spaces between each set of doors, and some World War 2 era posters of women flexing their girl power, and of course, some old roller derby jerseys.

Wesley was wearing a pair of black cotton sleep plants plastered with black and yellow batman symbols and a simple black t-shirt. He had all four burners going on the stove and the oven to boot. Hash browns, scrambled eggs, a pan of bacon, a pan of sausage and some ham going. He reached into the oven and pulled out a sheet of homemade biscuits and began plating everything.

Eggs and bacon for Grote which he poured a vodka and orange juice screwdriver to go with. Sausage and taters and eggs for Luna, ham and potatoes for Spike. He laid out all the plates as the residents began to trickle out of their rooms, disheveled and groaning like a horde of zombies, but you know, less alert.

He finished the table with a pitcher of water, ice tea and juice as well as the basket of fresh biscuits. As the horde got closer and closer to piping hot food, they moved faster and faster, everyone finally taking a seat as they began to ravenously tear into the small feast of breakfast laid out for them.

Luna produced the morning paper and began to idly page through it as she quietly ate.

This drew a chuckle from Grote and Wesley.

"Look, Luna is having lies for breakfast!" Wesley chuckled.

Luna replied by extending a middle finger, but said nothing, continuing to eat her breakfast in relative silence.

"Lies perpetrated by the man!" Added Grote.

"Hey fuck you, I'm not 10 years old, I can decide what is real and what's not." Luna scowled.

"The government lies; they just wanna fuck you in the ass, and not in that awesome gay way." Wesley stated, sipping some of his cold, deliciously bitter black tea.

"I read the paper because I am interested in my community thank you very much." Luna's cheek twitched in irritation as she flipped through the paper.

"Read a zine damnit." Grumbled Grote.

Luna growled through clenched teeth as she rolled the paper up tightly and leaned over the table, slapping Grote on the top of the head, and then Wesley, much, much harder than she had hit Grote. "Urgh you pinko commie fucks, I swear. I'm just as hardcore as the next girl, but I am not gonna hide under a fucking rock, know thy enemy."

They ate for several moments in silence, Grote and Wesley eyeing one another before Wesley cleared his throat. "Luna has cooties."

Luna scowled across at Wesley and slowly narrowed her eyes. "Oh just you wait, you'll get yours, asshat."

After breakfast, Grote and Spike had cleaned up the kitchen while Luna and Wesley showered in their respective boy/girl bathrooms. Luna and Wesley then headed downstairs to open up the shop for the day.

It was around 11am when Spike rounded the bottom of the stairs into the shop and found Wesley sitting in a deep arm chair behind the counter, flipping through a box of Bowie LPs while Luna manned the counter, flipping through a catalog when the phone rang.

"Lesbian Pimp Records? What? Cds? Listen Mister, if you enjoy the company of transvestites that's your prerogative, but we're a record store." Luna frowned as she hung up the phone. "What the fuck happened to this world?" She asked to no one in particular.

The phone's bell clanged and rang as the receiver practically jumped up and down in its cradle.

Luna sighed, absolutely irritated as she snatched the phone off the hook. "Thank you for calling Lesbian Pimp Records, where your hand gets shook and your shit gets took."

"Yes we sell The Fray and Radiohead, but you have to sign a disclaimer at your point of purchase. Why? Because we don't want to be held liable if you use it for the soundtrack to your suicide. Fuck you too buddy, go jump off a roof, fuckin' emo." Luna rolled her eyes as she hung the phone up.

"She's going to drive away all the business actin like that." Spike said, fumbling in her pocket for a cigarette.

"I hired her because she is pretty and sassy. So I figured if the store ever fell on hard times we could just, you know, start hooking her." Wesley shrugged.

"Hey fuck you!" Luna growled, picking up a bottle of white out and tossing it at Wesley who avoided it by leaning further back in his armchair.

Wesley Grinned "That's the idea!"

Just then the phone began to ring and clatter in its cradle, even more irritated now, Luna swiped it from the cradle. "Ghostbusters, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"Well I'm off." Spike nodded to them before heading out the door, Luna grumbling to whoever was on the phone.

"Ugh, it's gonna be a long fuckin day." Wesley sighed before beginning to flip through his records once more.

 

Chapter 2

"You know how I know you're gay?" Luna asked as she paced along one wall with a basket of records in tow, placing them one at a time into their proper sections.

"How, how do you know I am gay?" Wes asked back as he paced along the opposite wall, also restocking albums.

"Because you had a dream that David Bowie was chasing you." Luna answered.

"It wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare."

"Aww come on, he just wanted to put you through some ch-ch-ch-changes."

Wes frowned, picking a record from his stack and placing it in one of the displays. "You know how I know you're gay? You love to eat pussy."

"Only because it tastes REALLY good." Luna nodded.

The kettle bell hanging over the door into the shop clang as a customer entered. A younger man, with bright, white-bleached hair and teased bangs dyed hot pink walked into the shop. He had a black hoop piercing at either corner of his lower lip and numerous, small hoops pierced into both earlobes, each ring a different color, making a four-colored rainbow of sorts. He was decked out in tight black tee that hugged his slender chest, the front of the shirt splashed with hot pink lettering promoting some band that neither Luna nor Wes had ever heard of.

Luna eyed the boy and perked a brow at Wes, shrugging her shoulders at him.

The boy nodded to Wes, shooting him a shy, beaming smile and Wes nodded kindly in reply. Wes wasn't sure of the age, but put the customer right about 18 or older. He left his box of records that needed to be sorted to Luna and walked across the store and around the horseshoe shaped counter and sat perched on a padded stool behind the register as the customer browsed the stacks.

"Hey you know how I know you're gay?" Luna called out suddenly from across the room.

"Why am I gay?" Wes called back as the customer brought an album up to the counter and set it down.

"Because you like to fuck little emo twinks in the ass." Luna answered, trying to suppress her amusement with their little back and forth game.

"Only because it feels REALLY good." Was Wes' reply as he picked up the album, glancing up at the flush faced, blushing customer who remained silent, biting his lip.

"$4 my friend. Cash, we don't accept electronic payments of any kind." Wes declared as he carefully pushed the album into a brown paper bag and laid it back on the counter as the boy fished through his wallet.

"W-why?" The boy asked, pulling four $1 bills from his wallet and setting them on the counter.

"You know, the government." Wes answered as he put the money into his drawer and printed out a receipt, sticking into the paper bag.

"What about them?"

"Well duh! They're fucking evil!" Wes shrugged as if the information were common knowledge, not getting why this kid didn't get it.

"Oh...I uh, see." He said, picking up his brown bag.

"Here have a zine. If you find any of its contents at all enlightening, feel free to give me a ring." Wes said as he produced a small, hand-folded pamphlet from under the counter and quickly wrote his number on it, sliding it over to the boy.

"Thanks..." He said, biting his lip as he accepted the paper, his eyes lingering on Wes for a moment before he turned and left the store.

"Aww how cute. You gave him your number on a little scrap of paper! What are you fucking 12? You gonna pull his hair on the playground too?" Luna shook her head, still stalking through the racks and shelves, sorting albums.

"Hey nothing wrong with a bit of hair pulling." Wes shrugged.

"Fuckin' A." Luna agreed.

"So? When are you going to stop being a miserable bitch and patch things up with Spike?" Wes asked, sighing as he slipped into his deep, comfortable arm chair behind the counter, a milk crate filled with albums at his feet.

"Hey fuck you pal!" Luna growled suddenly. "That's none of your fucking business!"

"Maybe, maybe not. But it sure is fuck is the source of your grumpiness. Given, you usually wear a little bit of bitch on your sleeve like it's a red badge of courage. But lately it's been less of a badge and more like you dressing up like the fuckin' Flash.

Luna paused and turned to him, her eyes narrowing into two dangerous, predatory slits, regarding him in silence before her eyes returned to normal. "If you would have said Captain Marvel I would have disemboweled you with a broken shard of the Station to Station album.

Wes yawned and looked down at the time display on the computer monitor sitting on the countertop. "Urgh, I'm hungry. I think it's time for a noodle run."

"Noodles bitch!" Luna gleefully agreed.

Upstairs, hidden behind a simple wooden door with a golden plaque that read 'Grote M.D.' was Grote's room, office, laboratory, and temple of tentacle worship.

He ran a simple tech support service from his room using his trio of computers, the three monitors arrayed around him, constantly streaming data as he paused to take calls from time to time.

Wes tapped on the door and then poked his head inside, Grote was sitting in a large office chair, his feet propped up on his desk as he talked to a customer through his headset.

"Alright now press SHIFT and tap F3." Grote instructed the customer on the other line. He rolled his eyes as he listened to the customer's reply and sighed, his brow creasing as he gently massaged his temples. "Yes, I am sure it's the computer that's stupid and not you."

Grote turned and seen Wes who remained silent but gestured with both hands as if he were cupping a bowl in one and shoveling food into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks held in the other.

Grote's eyes grew wide at the sight. "Sorry gotta go, noodles. I am sure you understand." He said, switching off the headset and tossing it onto his desk.

Less than half an hour later their greasy bounty had arrived in the form of Dragon Express from up the block. The trio sat in their chairs behind the counter, eating their noodles and egg rolls as they watched a cartoon about a boy and his stretchy dog and their adventures in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, in silent reverence as it played on a large flat screen monitor bolted to the wall.

Wes reached for a packet of kari-out soy sauce and eagerly doused his noodles with it. "I wish I could go on adventures and shit."

Grote nodded.

"I'd have a sword, like a black sword. And a cool name, like, uhh, Blade!"

Luna snorted a laugh and shook her head, sipping from a pint glass filled with juice. "Blade? Ha! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Blade, a guy with a black sword. Let me guess you would like fight people and have like a dozen scantily clad women and elves around you all the time." She shook her head again. "Who the hell would be into that?"

"I'd be a monster. You know, with tentacles and shit." Grote added, throwing his two cents in.

"Well what about you Luna? What would your ideal fantasy world be?" Wes asked, slurping some noodles as he narrowed his eyes at the girl.

"I dunno. I'd have a bike though. A kick ass bike! Yesssss... That'd work..." Luna rubbed her hands together as if she were imagining something sinister and out of habit, Grote and Wes both scooted their chairs a little farther away.

"A bike? That's all you can come up with? Jesus you can do that here in the real world!" Wes frowned.

"Oh kiss my ass! You already have a sword and I know for a fact Grote has seen an octopus before."

"It was only out of scientific curiosity." Grote interjected.

"So your fantasy worlds suck too, here we have tentacles and swords and motorcycles in the real world. You totally ruined it, happy now? Or would you like to kick open the closet door and set Narnia on fire while you are at it?" Luna folded her arms over her chest.

Wes wringed his hands together. "I wonder if we still have that gas can..."

"Fuckin' genocide man." Said Grote.

***

"It's derby night people! Get your shit and get out. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Though, preferably, you would go down to the track and show your love for the Toybox Killers!" Luna stood at the door to the shop, ringing the kettle bell loudly as groaning customers turned and filed from the shop.

Once the last of them were out Luna turned and called back to Wes who was in his office. "Imma skate over to the arena! I'll see you guys after the match!"

"Be good!" Wes replied, calling out from his office towards the rear of the store.

Luna slung her bag over her shoulder and skated out of the shop, darting out into the street between parked cars before quickly vanishing.

Wes was sitting in the semi darkness of his office, the only illumination streaming from between the partially open blinds came from the orange, rapidly setting sun. Orange light pierced the pools of shadows, casting a strange glow in the room that reminded Wes of fire. The fire reminded him of buildings that were ablaze, the buildings reminding him of the intense artillery bombardment during the siege the night before.

Shells like bright orange flashes of flame spewing from the muzzles of the cannons to rain down on the city indiscriminately, like the wrath of a vengeful god. He felt the usual rush of intense emotion, his hand moving up to slowly rub his creased forehead as he shut his eyes, trying to think of something else.

He stopped short of remembering the bodies, the bloody carnage his unit had found during their advance recon the following sunrise. The intense sadness fizzled into a frightening, hollow numbness. Everything felt cold, no emotion registered, but he felt his death quickly approaching. It was as if he had walked a long path up a steep hill and finally reached the top, only to be greeted by a great chasm. There was nothing there, just the hard way down and the promise of a fast approaching death.

Wes flicked his hand and arm as if they were dripping wet and he was trying to brush the water from it, his nerve damaged arm irritated by the numerous old fractures and the odd, out of place bones in his right hand. He reached for the middle drawer of his desk and pulled it partially open.

His hand hovered as he examined the SP-21 .45acp Barak pistol that was there, his eyes narrowing into little slits before his hand moved to the dark green bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey. A momentary triumph over the demons that lurked in the shadows of his mind. He snatched the bottle up, pouring himself a single shot from it before promptly downing the small drink.