The Depraved Dykes of FIT - Book 11

Yeah, like that.

That's how we all like it, right? Man or woman, no one can resist a sweet, juicy peachy pussy for long.

He kissed her sweet little slit, the tip of his tongue just easing out, just barely touching where he figured her pussy lips were, licking up and down outside of the deep rose pink in that wet hole, and was rewarded when she shivered with lust and subsequent satiation, her hips shaking and a small pulse of her hot, clear cream dribbling out from that tight slit.

"Oh god, do it," she urged him, and he did, thrusting his tongue deep inside her crevice, her interior like slick wet satin dripping with heated peach nectar, thick and gooey and sweet and smeared all over his cheeks and running down his chin.

"I wish I could just jam my whole face inside this wet, gooey slut's cunt," Andy imagined, and his heart fluttered. "I guess I'll just have to console myself with taking her cherry with my cock...I swear it feels like she's never been fucked," he thought, a slight feeling of indigestion growing in his chest. "When was the last time I ate?" he thought.

"I've got my head so far up her pussy, I'm forgetting to breathe," he chuckled to himself, as he tried to catch his breath, not really fully succeeding. He felt himself sweating, and the nausea returning. "Fuck, I've got to get her off before I puke," he thought. "That wouldn't look good."

Just then she cried out, a cry of pure pleasure and utter ecstasy, her entire body shivering and shaking with delirious delight.

"Damn, worth the wait," Andy thought. "I've never seen a chick cum like that! She'll let me do anything..."

Andy raised up triumphantly above the girl, her eyes now closed again, beads of sweat on her cheeks and upper chest, her breasts small, a teenager's tits, and pressed his hips forward, his cock aimed for her slit, so wet and as ready as it would ever be for a grade A fucking from a stud like Andy.

His last thought was "What a great fucking town Lost Wages is..." just as the massive heart attack blew up inside him, then exploding his blood pump like a cheap balloon, like a mighty vise clamping down so hard and painfully on it, or maybe just like a high heel stomping down an annoying insect, his heart stopping forever.

Which was just as well - the agony it caused him would have driven him insane anyway.

Chapter 9

Jeffrey slowly became aware of his surroundings...it had been such a weird dream. He was now standing next to a bank of complicated looking machines, all gleaming chrome, brightly colored plastic, lights racing over their surfaces, video screens above them telling a story - what story, was beyond him. Music, soft and consisting of beeps and short musical tones of two notes or less.

His vision cleared and he could see that he was standing next to a bank of slot machines.

"This is my machine, sonny boy," an old woman seated at one croaked at him. She was wearing a bright floral blouse and even brighter yellow pants, all of it belying the pallor of her colorless, wrinkled face, as she waved a string of paper tickets at him.

"Get your own damn machine," she continued, frowning.

"How did I get here? And where was 'here?' he thought.

He looked around, and spotted a sign for a coffee shop off the casino floor. He patted his hip, feeling his wallet still there."A cup of coffee," he thought. "Clear my head." He sailed over to it, tacking with the wind blowing noisily in his head.

"Hi honey, what can I get ya?" the waitress, a middle-aged bottle blonde with "Bunny" on her name badge asked, as soon as he fell into one of the surprisingly plush chairs at the empty two top, far from the insidiously monstrous mating calls of the slots.

"Uh, coffee, black...and a menu?"

"There's menus right here, honey," she smiled, gesturing at the stacked one page laminated menus held upright between the napkin holder and a squat bottle of Heinz ketchup. She helpfully pulled one out and laid it before him.

"I'll be right back with your coffee," she said, her pastel butt already moving away.

"So, where the fuck am I?" Jeffrey repeated to himself, scouring the menu for clues.

'Silver Dollar Coffee Shop in the Silver State Casino by the World Famous Las Vegas Strip,' emblazoned across the top of it was pretty helpful. From what little that Jeffrey knew of Las Vegas, that meant he was in Las Vegas itself, not out in the boondocks at some strip club - the last place he could clearly remember. But there were also images of being in bed with a very cute young girl, doing everything sexual that he could conceive of, and several things that he'd never imagined.

"Damn...licking her pussy, she exploded like a 4th of July firework...dicking her tiny, tight pussy, she came and came...and she even begged me to fuck her in the ass...god!"

But what happened since then, how did he get here, and most importantly, where the fuck were Mykal and Andy?

He checked his pockets and found only his wallet, and his airport baggage slip, which he remembered cramming in his pocket when he'd checked into his flight from Des Moines. His luggage - just a small bag, really - he remembered now, was packed in the trunk of that woman's limo who took them...where? "Ah, some small town near Vegas, a Gentlemen's Club...she wanted us to see it-"

"-your coffee, honey," the waitress's words interrupting his train of thought. "Did you see anything you liked?" she asked.

"Just you, sweetie, bent over the table with your legs spread," Jeffrey said. She stared at him, her face slowly forming a scowl.

"Oh my god," Jeffrey added, thinking fast. "It's my Tourette's, I can't control what I say!" he said, his face looking as distressed as he felt. "Fuck!" he thought.

In what was an extremely lucky break for him, the waitress had just recently seen an episode of Jerry Springer on that very topic, and as such felt that she could now speak authoritatively on the subject.

"Are you serious?" she asked him, aware of the number of utter assholes who could show up at her station, situated as it was in a coffee shop inside a casino in Asshole City Central, USA. "Is that really your medical condition?" She looked at him warily.

"Yes ma'am, oh I'm so sorry, my mother would kill me for having said that even though I'm on medication for it." He had no idea if there was medicine for that condition, but he was hoping that she didn't know either.

"It's lucky for you, young man, that I happen to know something about that, and so I won't call security over, but you're going to have to rein in your language, Tourette's or not, because there's not many people in this town who will let you talk like that to them, and some of them's carrying guns. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am, just as soon as I leave here I'm going to take the medication," Jeffrey said sorrowfully, though in point of fact he was also thinking that it would be nice to fuck her hole, which was pretty likely both wet and hot, after being on her feet all day. And her ass hole would be a nice place to deposit his load, once her cunt had gotten him nice and slimy, and ready to shoot.

"Just fire a hot wad of sticky, gooey cum inside her tight keister, so she could feel it dripping down her legs the rest of the day." This was just as unsummoned a thought as his first comment to her, but at least he knew now to keep it in his head and off his tongue.

"See that you do," she said, somewhat mollified. "And anything to eat?"

"Uh, yes ma'am," he said, "The Prospector Platter, with maple syrup on the side. And a big glass of orange juice."

"So I can pour that syrup on your tits, and lick it off," he thought. Then he thought, "What the fuck?"

"That's a good choice, it's our most popular breakfast choice, and the ham is so good." She walked away to place his order.

"I wouldn't mind sticking my face between your two hams, sister, and licking your sweet little butt hole," he said, but at least remembered to keep his voice low. Fortunately neither she nor anyone around him heard him.

Chapter 10

"I'd like to report a kidnapping," Jeffrey said over the phone.

"Yes sir," the voice of the 911 operator responded, her voice alert. "What is your name?"

"That's not important. The kidnapped men - or at least they're missing, I'm not sure - are Andy Stinson and Mykal Goodweather. They came with me to Las Vegas and now they're missing."

"When did they go missing?" the female operator asked.

"I don't know," he answered. There was something about her voice that intrigued him...

"What are you wearing?" he asked impulsively.

"Excuse me?" the female operator replied.

"What are you wearing?" he repeated. "Are you naked? Is your hand between your legs right now, stroking your wet little-"

"-Sir! Prank calls to 911 are a felony in the State of Nevada," the operator told him in no uncertain terms, but she heard the click as he hung up.

"Fucking idiot," she muttered under her breath. Her computer screen told her that the call was coming from a casino in town, so unless he hung around the pay phone bank he'd get away with it. Still, she put in a call to the Silver State Casino security team to look for a man hanging around the pay phones.

"Thanks," the female dispatcher at the casino's security office responded. "We've got a complaint from one of the waitresses at the coffee shop, it may be the same guy. We ought to be able to get him on video. We'll let the Clark County Sheriff know."

Chapter 11

"Hey, you're awfully pretty...looking for a date?" Jeffrey couldn't understand what was driving him to act like a deranged pervert, but whenever he found himself in the presence of a female, his entire drive went to trying to fuck her. It was as though his id had been completely freed and his sole purpose in life was to get his dick inside women and pump them full of his cum.

He retreated to a stall in a nearby mens room. Yanking his pants down, he was surprised to find his cock flaccid and limp, though he could feel the deep desire to jet out his sperm on a female, any female. His frustration was palpable. He left the restroom and headed out to the street.

To his good fortune, he happened across a bedraggled looking woman of about 45 or so, who eyed him, then said, "Looking for a date?"

He stopped, then replied, "Oh fuck...yes."

She asked him if he was a cop. "You have to say if you are," she said, hopeful that her street law education was soundly based.

"No, I just want to fuck," he said.

"I don't do that, but I'll suck your dick. $50."

"Fine," he said. "Got a place?'

"Yeah, step into my office," she replied, walking behind a dumpster. He followed.

"Money first," she said. He reached into his pants, pulling out his wallet and pulled out three bills, two twenties and a ten. He handed it to her, and in a flash she had the money secreted somewhere on her body and his pants unzipped, though still up on his hips. She maneuvered out his cock, now erect and throbbing.

"Nice looking cock, stud," she said. She'd learned over the years how important customer service is, and making him feel good about himself after leaving her was a big part of that, so she always tried to boost the john's self-esteem, even if he did have a sad, wrinkled looking piece of left over liverwurst hanging between his thighs - not that this kid's cock looked like that.

She nearly swallowed it, deep throating him like the pro she was. It was only a matter of about 30 seconds of tongue, lip and gum work before she had him shooting a thick wad of cum down her throat.

She rose and walked away quickly before he could recover from the intense pleasure he'd felt from the oral ministrations. He zipped up, and then walked away himself to consider what was happening. Walking farther away from the Strip, he found a pizza place, Sal's NY Style Slices, and ordered two slices of Meat Lover's Pizza and a soda, then sat down to think things through. The counterman was, indeed, a man, and he'd found himself able to conduct business with him like a human being.

But when a group of teenage tourists entered, two of them girls, he found the urge to beg the girls for sex rising inside him. He was able to suppress it, but clearly this was a weird new dilemma he'd have to face. Still, he was imagining himself with his face buried in one girl's wet crotch, while the other sucked his dick.

"What do I do from here?" he asked himself, turning his chair so that he wouldn't have to look at the two girls.

"I should go to the hotel and see if Mykal and Andy are there. And maybe we can compare notes or something."

He found a promotional map of downtown Las Vegas on the wall of the pizza shop and located their hotel. Their room had been paid for in advance, so that would be a good rallying point for them. He saw that he was only three blocks away, and finishing his meal and exiting, avoiding looking at the two girls joking and laughing with their three male companions, he walked out and down the side streets until he found the hotel.

"Hi, my name is Jeffrey Baumquist, um, I had a room booked here...did my two friends show up? Their names are Mykal Goodweather and Andy Stinson..."

The clerk looked at his monitor. "We show your booking, sir, and your payment, but the room was never claimed. Do you want to check in now? You still have two days left on your reservation..."

What had happened to Mykal and Andy? If nothing else, this hotel was the only thing in Las Vegas - other than their cell phones - that they had as a rallying point.

"Yeah, I want to check in," he said. The clerk took care of the particulars, giving him three keycards.

Jeffrey went up to the room, an undistinguished room similar to millions of others of the faded Middle America hotel family, and decided to shower and pull himself together. He felt better after cleaning himself up, then sat down and, using an old telephone calling card he'd held onto "just in case," called back home to Ashley Everett, his fiancée.

"Where have you been?' she asked him. "I didn't hear from you and I was worried that something happened to you."

"Ashley, something terrible's happened..." he began. His loving and understanding fiancée listened to his story, allowing him to talk until he could talk no more. Of course, he left out any mention of sex, and he made Club Chaleur sound more like a regular bar than anything else.

"What do I do?" he concluded.

"You went to the, um, Gentlemen's Club, and everything after that is a blur? And you have no idea where Andy or Mykal are?" she concluded.

"Yes!" he breathed out heavily. She at least had listened without jumping to conclusions, but that wasn't out of his expectation from her. Ashley had been the one to ask him out first, eschewing the hook up, and was way more logical than any girl he had ever met, and certainly rare in any woman he had ever met, much less an 18 year old college - real college - girl. He had blessed the heavens the day he met her and had never looked back.

He didn't want anything to mess up his chance to make her his wife.

"But you're okay?" she said. "Have you checked yourself over - no cuts, bruises, no parts feeling sore?"

"No...why?" he asked.

"If you were unconscious in one place, then found yourself somewhere else - well, you're a big guy, you weigh 200 pounds, there's no way you could be shuffled around without a couple of people being involved, right?"

"That makes sense," he said. Ashley was a great deal smarter than he was, and he knew it.

"That means it was like a gang or something. You need to go to the police right away and tell them your story. I'll check with Andy's and Mykal's families to see if they've been in contact. You might need to report them missing, so don't let the police blow you off, okay?"

"Right," Jeffrey said. "I love you," he added.

"I love you, too, babe," Ashley said, her voice softening. "I know that you've only been gone two days, but I miss you so much. Hurry back to me...you're not getting out of this wedding, no matter what!"

Jeffrey laughed, and then reluctantly hung up the bedside phone. He resolved to do whatever it took to honor her and hold onto her, tightly.

Chapter 12

Jeffrey's reception by the officers of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department station on Sierra Vista Drive was everything that one could reasonably expect - polite and interested but professional. No doubt, that kind of efficient and progressive attitude has contributed to their solidly favorable reviews on Google over the years, including the 5 stars from a poster named Queen Elizabeth II. And things were going smoothly for Jeffrey until the detective speaking with him asked him if he was the man who had solicited a waitress at the Silver Dollar Coffee Shop, and who had been spotted soliciting several other women in town.

"Why would you think that was me?" Jeffrey asked.

"I was a little curious when you mentioned the Silver Dollar - my uncle's the manager there. He had mentioned a guy who sounded like you. Then when we roughly figured out your route from there to your hotel, we had cameras along the way checked. We're not like the Crime Scene TV shows as far as technology goes, but we're not stupid either." The detective went silent, giving Jeffrey every opportunity to put his neck as far as possible in a metaphorical noose. It's what cops do.

"There was something wrong with me when I came out of my daze...it was like I was horny and like I couldn't control myself. But I didn't assault anyone...did I?" Jeffrey couldn't believe what a nightmare his life was becoming.

"I'll leave it up to the DA to determine that," the detective said. "We'll follow up on any missing person reports you file - and I urge you to file them on your friends - and see where it takes us."

"And that Gentlemen's Club out in the desert..." Jeffrey asked.

"It would help a lot if you could remember anything descriptive about it, like what town it was in, street address, the route they took, anything descriptive about the exterior..."

"I'm sorry," Jeffrey said. "We just weren't paying attention."

"Well, if you think of anything..." the detective said.

"Am I under arrest?" asked Jeffrey.

The detective laughed. "No, not yet and based on what I know right now, probably not going to be. You're just another college kid who got into water a little deeper than his head. But if things go south, we know where to find you in Iowa."

Chapter 13

Jeffrey turned in his return air ticket and found himself on a flight back to Des Moines, this time alone. He wondered if he should have stayed in Las Vegas and somehow mounted a search for Andy and Mykal, but in a rare bit of insight - and further consultation with Ashley - he knew that it would be a waste of time for him to try it on his own, and he didn't have the resources to finance a search by others. He'd just have to hope that the police would take his two friends' disappearances seriously.

Of course, there was serious blowback when he returned. Mykal and Andy's families were furious that he appeared - to them - to be a complete ignoramus, unable to provide anything useful by way of understanding what had happened to their loved ones.

And most of their mutual group of friends reacted similarly, blaming him either directly or indirectly for the loss of two members of the group.

He and Ashley and their two families discussed whether the wedding should be postponed, and all agreed that it should be delayed, but neither he nor Ashley wanted an unlimited halt to the start of their marriage, and so decided that they would wait two weeks past the original date of the wedding, then go ahead with the ceremony. Since nobody involved had wanted or planned for a big wedding it wasn't as difficult as one might think, simply a matter of changing the date at their small church, which conducted more funerals than weddings anyway.