Memoirs of Venus Ch. 01.5

"I didn't finish."

The fucking balls on this guy. Figuratively and literally. Pauly reached across Tori's slick, sweat soaked body and helped himself to one of her cigarettes. The motion was so natural it all but confirmed my suspicions that he had been here before. Helping himself to her body, her bed, her purse and her goods - all after pocketing a fistful of twenties for the pills. And as he collapsed next to her he drew in deep drags from a Camel Light with one hand while the other pulled long lazy strokes up and down his crooked mast of cum covered cock.

"I cannot take any more! You boys will have to finish up yourselves because I'm fucking done!" Tori hissed as she lazily rubbed on her now swollen and sore, matted, sticky mons.

Looking down at the mess we had made of her; cum and scratches and bruises; the runny remnants of her evening makeup smeared with tears of cock joy and sweat, I was sheepishly ashamed at my own barbarity but also wildly thrilled. I had been fucking this girl right over the side of many a bed since her sophomore year; rocked whole box springs off metal frames, cracked the trusses of cheap Chinese futon recliners; fucked her right out both ends of sleeping bags in steam filled tents on as many camping trips. But I had never seen her tap out.

The cruel irony of our chemistry was such that what really fired her up was when I came; the physical tribute to her mouth or pussy or, on rare occasions, her tender and tiny rosebud of an ass; the drenching and pouring and squeezing of my voluminous cock milk into or on to her body always ignited her "itch". And while I would succumb more or less instantly to the petite mort; the little death of post orgasmic exhaustion, she would whinny and whine and buck and grind her bony hips into bedding or sky and coax me to continue on, either with my fingers or my tongue, feats which I could barely manage if at all in my delirious state. And no matter the hammering I had delivered to her pleading pussy... it never seemed to be enough.

Until this night.

And grotesque battering ram of a dick or not, I knew Pauly had only fared slightly better, given his apparent drug induced ability to stay hard and fuck through what would otherwise be a normal refractory respite.

The simple mechanics, I would come to find, were that the more you came in her, the more she wanted; the more spurred on she became to climax again as she feverishly worked to draw out the next available torrent of fuck milk.

But there was, at long last, a point of raw and rug-burned physical exhaustion that could quench the girl's drunken fire. Here it was.

As I heaved deeply to catch my breath, I realized that I too, was absentmindedly stroking a fistful of my fat red, reloaded cock. I wasn't as practiced as Pauly in the blunt and visceral communication of street hustler junkies who knew no shame when it came to demanding what they wanted or needed. I was still fumbling for the right words, because I too wanted to "finish", to drag from her one more pleasurable high, though it seemed as though I had been increasingly firing blanks as the evening drew on. What it was I was now squirting into her was something more like water than cream. But I had to go on.

"You guys can cum on my tits if you want." She offered as she settled back into the great and damp depression of her bedding. "I'm going to sleep."

And so, taking the girl at her word, the two of us fumbled our way to her sides; each one straddling an armpit and hammered away at our strained and tired cocks while we groped and gripped and picked at her erect plastic tits; her newly acquired pride and joy. In doing so we each tried, through knotted and crippled broken backs, to sustain our weight while attempting several variations of fucking her sweat greased tits without crushing the poor girl, at one point even plowing both our cocks into her crumpled cleavage from opposite ends; one cock riding over the other and then under as we collided again and again into her pillowy bubbles of tit meat.

And after several repositioning rounds and more than a few complaints from beneath us when we had pushed our respective luck too far, we somehow settled back on either side of her wilted, delirious face. We had stirred her passions just enough for a weak and halfhearted whimpering nibble at our dueling cockheads, her body too spent to even turn to one side or the other. She simply craned her jaw ever so slightly up and licked at whatever cock held the position between her pouting lips; At some point having to yield just a slight bit more so that both unrelenting pricks could angle their way into her pried open mouth. With one hand forcefully pulling her head up and into this less-than-consenting double barreled throat fucking, and the other furiously torquing away between my shaft and her stuffed and muffled mouth, I was able at last, to coax the milk lightening of my final orgasm into her overflowing cheeks. My throbbing, squirting cock blasted the last watery ropes of cum across Pauly's fat knob and Tori's pursed, drooling lips as I fell backwards into a satisfied and triumphant heap of spent muscle.

Pauly, now free to fill the unopposed space in Tori's face, pushed down the girl's throat, momentarily causing her to thrash and strike out at him for near strangling her. But he showed no sign of concern or mercy as he positioned himself to push past her tonsils and fuck the last of his clumsy loads into her esophagus as she tried desperately to free herself from beneath his dangling balls. I resisted the momentary urge to be her savior; her hero; her rescuer. I was past the anger for the most part. But too tired to save her from this last degradation, brought on by her own appetites and desires.

You buy the ticket, you take the ride.

The night had begun to wane into the last of dawn's darkness, and I realized that I would have to attempt a night's sleep into the day (something I have always been cursed to fail at). I was, thank god, entirely too drained of life to waste any more energy on playing out the mental novela of what i would do next; how I would deliver the relationship's death blow the next day. Because it was already tomorrow.

We had, without a doubt, fucked my girlfriend's brains out. And she had done the same to us.

Once Pauly had unceremoniously fumbled another cigarette from Tori's nightstand, he dragged his bony body back into his stained and weathered rags and limped, like the walking dead, back into the last of the night.

That he was gone, and I was once again restored to my full share of Tori's bed, was the only solace I would have for the underlying injury of the evening.

But, like any injury to the ego alone, I was unhindered on the spiritual cloud I now rode. I was alive. More alive than I'd ever felt. And I opened myself to the feeling.