The Slumber Party Pt. 02

I couldn't bring myself to look at her. 'It was all for Sophie,' I tell myself over and over again. My, Oh God, my baby momma.

"Can we go?" I asked without looking.

I heard her shift the car into drive. We lurched forward--maybe a few feet at most, then she slammed on the brakes, slapped the car into park, and I heard a chiming noise as she opened her door. Then there was the hollow rattle of a Dixie cup being dropped on the ground.

That got my attention. I peeked. Her door was open, and over her lap, I could see a plastic Dixie cup blowing away and a splash of cum smeared across the asphalt in its wake.

Blair gazed at it longingly.

Something about this snapshot in time...sigh.

My God. What has my life become?

"I'm an asshole," she mumbled and slammed the door shut. She banged her head against the steering wheel, then with her forehead pressed against it, peeked over at me. She said, "I don't hate cock. Like, if I really think about it, yeah, there's no intimacy to what it's attached to, but I do like the feeling. And Mason..." She grabbed my hand, caressed it there. "...I really do like you. Not, well, you know, in the same way that Sophie does, and not like, uh, well, your sister does--"

********************************

"That bitch!" Brooke interrupts to say.

I guess Blair wasn't supposed to tell me that?

Brooke sees the look on my face. "No, not that. Of course, I love you, stupid."

I begin to speak, but she puts her finger to my lips. "Yes," she says, "I mean in that way." She indicates down to my naked body cuddling into her fully clothed one--save for my cock that she's pinched between the pantyhose on her thighs.

Brooke shakes her head and in a huff, she's pawing around her pockets until she finds her phone. She swipes the screen and types something out, Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap., scoffs, and puts the phone away in her pocket, muttering, "that fucking bitch."

Then she cuddles in, kisses me on the lips, and smiles. "Well? Fucking continue."

Sigh I think I have a type.

***************************************

"What?" Blair asked. "Dude..." And she chuckled at that choice of word and covered her mouth. "...Oh God, Sophie's rubbing off on me. But no, uh, where was I going with that, uh, oh, Brooke, right, she--"

I think for the first time, I had a shred of confidence around Blair. She was vulnerable here, and more than that, I--yeah, I'm kinda pissed at her for putting me through this. No, more than that, using Sophie to put me through this. "Brooke--Blair," I corrected myself, "can't you just take me home? Why are you doing this? Of all the people who'd gladly, you know, do this for you, why are you--" I shook my head, gathered my thoughts. "--are you mad at me for getting Sophie pregnant? Is this revenge? Like, I'm sorry, but I wouldn't take that back. Not ever."

The thought of being "Dad" had really been growing on me, especially considering who it was with--me and Sophie, us little nobodies, an amazing child all to ourselves.

"Fuck." Blair stared at me, totally blank faced, then she let her forehead drop into the steering wheel again. "I really am an asshole."

"Mason." She peeked up. "How about this: You hop in back and I'll do things to you that give you funny feelings that you kind of like--but not totally--, and then you'll do things to me that I kinda like but not totally, and then we'll kinda understand each other?"

I didn't know what to say.

She squeezed my hand. "Okay...okay..." She drew in a breath. "If I had a little Mason, I'd automatically love him for for you...Shit. That was corny. I mean--" She gathered herself, really thought about it, and then I saw her smile, as if she was thinking about the future, I suppose. "--Naw, that's what I mean."

I was lost. I didn't know what to say here. Like, I'm pissed and humiliated, but here she was pouring out her soul, and I never hated Blair. She's the de-facto wife of my Sophie.

She reached around me. Her enormous breasts sploosh around my bicep, and she pulls the seat recliner lever. My backrest fell back thirty degrees until it struck the back seat. Her arm slid between my knees, down to the seat-scooter-back-lever, but unfortunately, my seat was already maxed out.

I heard the strumming of a large bore diesel engine outside my window. And against the dusky orange sunset, I could see the black tinted glass of a semi's passenger window gleaning down on us, a perfect view into Blair's little coupe.

Blair hiked up her beige dress, crawled over and straddled me. Her eyes flashed. She was excited. Her hand reached down, tentatively groped my groin, and when I didn't protest, she leaned forward, whispered in my ear, "I'm going to do things to you now. The safeword is 'Testosterone.' You know what a safeword is?"

I had a pretty good idea, but...

She caught my hesitation. "It means, if you say that word, I'll stop and drive you home, no questions asked, okay?"

I nodded.

"Now," she said with a dark sparkle in her eye, "I want you naked."

"But--" I pointed up at the semi parked right beside us.

Blair shook her head. "I want them to see. Now, strip boy!" She slapped my thigh.

I was hesitant. She leaned over, got right in my face, and I was reminded of the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket. "You remember the safeword?"

I nod.

"You gonna say it?"

I--I no, I decided not to. I shook my head.

"Then strip, boy!"

I peeled off my shirt. She tapped at my jeans. I unhooked my belt, unzipped the front, unbuttoned the zipper, all the while, she was staring down expectantly. I hooked my thumbs into my jeans. She scoots back to give me room, and I figure it's best just to do the whole thing in one shebang, and I dropped my pants and undies, but my kees catch on the glovebox, and when I try to wriggle around, I bump my hips into Blair's ass, her head crams against the ceiling at an awkward angle. Her leg jerked, and she squelched, "Ow, ow, ow! My toe, Mason. It's caught...pull it out of...yeah, yeah, that's better."

She tried to shuffle around. Our legs tangled. Her knee prodded into my groin. My forearm smacked her chin, and finally, she'd resituated herself, "reverse cowgirl" the internet videos would call it, over my lap.

She leaned forward, ducking under the windshield, and on into that gap above the dash. Her arms slid her frock right off her body. No panties, no bra, just pure pale flesh underneath.

Blair giggled--yes, Blair Rochester just fucking giggled, and wiggled her asscheeks in my face. The soft flesh shook, and I couldn't help it, I slapped the side of her fat cheeks. "Mason!" She screeched. Her shoulders heaved. And for a moment, I thought I'd gone too far, but without even looking back, she said, "Do it again."

Smack.

"Harder, you bitch!"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Get it right in the crack!"

I tried, but the angle was awkward as close as we were together, and it was a weak slap. I tried to push her forward to get more room for a swing, but her forehead rapped against the glass of the windshield--"Ouch!"--and her arm contorted weirdly against the door.

Smack? I swear that last crack slap was more a question than an assertion.

She sighed and shook her head. Her body reared back, and she plopped those fat cheeks right onto my cock, wiggled around, really got it smothered between them good. Her bare back leaned against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her slender waist, hugging her against me.

Idly, her fingertips caressed along my forearms. Her head leaned back over my shoulder, so I tipped my own aside to share the headrest. And we sat like that, me just feeling the gentle compressions of her chest, the slow scratches of her fingernails across my skin.

I looked over at her, who was staring off into space, the hint of a smile on those plump lips, and I leaned in to claim them on my own but only made it as far as her cheek before she lurched away.

"Okay..." She held up a finger, pressed it against my lips seemingly like she was trying to contain them. "Kissing is my 'Testosterone.' Like, your cock laying between my cheeks feels amazing." And to accentuate her point, she wiggled her ass deeper against me. "And, here, lemme take your hand..." She grabbed it and led my finger down the subtle hairs of her landing strip and on into the dripping trench of her sex.

She helped me rub her clitoris in all the right ways, until she moaned and arched her back. Huffing in ecstasy, she pulled my hand away, led it up to her breast, circled her long stretched nipples with my fingers, and right then, I broke from her grasp and squeezed up her entire fatty mounds until the flesh oozed between my fingers. I kneaded those wonderful toys.

As I did so, she explained, "That all feels wonderful. That skin on skin touch. But..." She shook her head. "...how to say it: Swapping spit doesn't feel sensual in the same way. That's romantic, intimate, not sexual, you know? I can't just focus on the sensation and forget who's doing it."

I stopped. "Who's doing it? You mean, me?"

"I don't mean it like that. More like, just a dude in general. I don't know, it's hard to explain with words. Here, close your eyes and lean back. You remember the safeword?"

I did as she said. "Yeah," I tell her.

"Okay." I felt her lean over; heard some rustlings through her purse; there was a snap like a bottle top, a wet squirt; she kicked my pants down the rest of the way to the floor, allowing me to step out of them, and she told me, "Okay, put your feet up on the dash."

Do what?

Her voice got stern. "Did I stutter? Feet up, boy."

I did not argue. I had to contort so far that I felt my knees smoosh into her breasts, and as my legs spread to wriggle their way up there, this forced her legs open, and soon, I could feel a slimy path of writhing heat along my happy trail as she scooted back to give me room, no doubt her open cunt loitering just above my cock. And even once I got my feet propped up there, which, due to my size, really had my legs spread from one side of the car to the other, it seemed, Blair still remained hiked up, her sweltering wet sex pressed against my stomach.

The semi idled next to us. Ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh. Ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh. Those overbored pistons just slamming into the crank. And I just knew that guy, probably some fat slob in a denim jacket, was looking down at my spread ass.

And for that matter, so was Blair.

"Damn.." I heard her mutter.

Her fingers began to knead my ballsack. Her other hand rubbed some wet slime right around my--Hoo boy! Just you hold on a minute! I jumped up, and heard a smack, probably her head against the ceiling, and Blair just started laughing, and laughing, just absolutely maniacal.

A fingernail parted where no fingernail has ever been, then her fingertip, and I felt a smoldering burn as she pushed it on in.

Jesus Christ, I felt so...exposed.

"Blair, maybe..."

"Shush. I love this." Then after a moment, she said, "stick your fingers in my pussy. Get it ready."

Get it ready for what? Right as I thought that, she hit some kind of button on the inside, and Hoo boy! cooling strands of precum leaked from my cock.

I reached around, slid down her landing strip and popped one finger into her trench. I started rubbing her clit just like she showed me earlier. Her hips started rocking. "Fingers in my pussy, Mason," she said, despite that.

I began to slide that hand down, but she stopped me. "Well, keep doing that! What are you thinking? You got two hands."

Oh, right. I found her hole with the other. First one finger, and then, right when I was starting to put in two, she copied me. A second of her fingers slipped in, again with the burn, but her fingers curled and began massaging the button. Another dribble of precum.

So now, with two fingers inside each other, I was really working her clit around, she was moaning, and all was well, so I tried to put in a third, except, she also did as well, and that was way too much for me, so I retracted my finger.

I heard her husky laugh. "Just kidding. It's not really the same thing, and...well, I want three fingers in me, four, even."

I hesitated.

"I ain't gonna stick any more fingers up your ass, Mason! So, plunge away."

I did.

"Spread 'em out, Mason!"

I spread my fingertips.

"Thumb, too!"

Oh, oh, wow. That was a challenge, but she talked me through it. The really hard part was the knuckle, but she knew just how to take that, said she'd done it before. But instead of pumping my...holy shit...my entire fucking fist into and out of Brooke's engorged vagina, she had me just hold it there, letting her adjust around the girth.

I felt her hand clasp around my cock, her other hand still buried two fingers deep inside me.

"Alright, pull your hand out, now, do it quickly, too," she instructed.

Jesus, her vagina felt like an airtight tube, well as I had it plugged. Felt like I was vacuuming out her insides as I ripped my hand out of her pussy. She threw her head back and screamed, "Oh fuck, yes!"

Then, Blair dropped her hips, and I felt gaping moist walls shudder and slowly begin to close around the girth of my cock. Holy shit. My cock was buried down to the hilt inside her pussy, just, she'd used a slightly different method that Sophie had.

I tried to pump my hips forward.

"Don't move," she said. Her face peered around and grinned, Cheshire cat. There was a wet slurp of lube. It cooled my spread loins, and she began working her fingers, not quite in and out, but more really massaging them into the button that I never even knew was inside me.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...Oh, my God...That's too much...Oh, oh, oh, oh...ugh!" That wasn't Blair. That was me. Her violations were incredible. Humiliating, intrusive, but also incredible.

She had me moaning and panting and sweating and just straight up being, what she called, her, "Fuck slut." Crass as that was, in the moment, I was totally into it.

Incredible things happened to my cock, too. My balls ached deeper than they ever had before. It felt simultaneously like I'd been kicked in them and that they were right on the threshold of a burgeoning orgasm.

Precum, precum, precum, like nobody's business. Even buried up in Blair's sleeve, I could feel the precum leaking.

Then--Oh My Fucking God.--my toes curled. A flood burst. I screamed like a girl, shook, squirmed, orgasmed like I'd never had in my life. White hot specks in my vision. Fade to black.

Tendril after tendril. Hot watery cum. Long splashes of it. I came and I came and I came right up Blair's womb. She wasn't getting much out of this until then but when I came, she squealed to match me, "Give me a baby, Mason!"

Christ! I gave her a million.

Sweating. Panting. Overcome with lust and debasement and shame and wet sloppy cum dripping between my thighs, cum that had traveled from the farthest depths of Blair's vagina.

She leaned back and smiled, her two fingers still up my ass. "Do you want more?"

"I--"

I don't even know why she asked. She didn't wait for an answer, and while keeping me in a constant state of shuddering over sensitizations, she coaxed every last drop from my balls until I swear that they were raisins, and still she kept bringing me to orgasm, over and over again.

By the time she was done, I couldn't move. My legs were jelly. My balls ached into my stomach. And even the air conditioner blowing against my cock was too much stimulation. She slipped back into her frock, and scooched back over into the driver's seat.

I felt a tender kiss on my cheek.

"I thought you didn't like kissing?" I huffed and puffed.

"Just one," she said, and put the car into drive.

I lolled my head over just in time to see our semi-buddy getting farther away. Toot, toot. He honked his horn after us as we left.

"I can't feel my legs, Blair."

She reached over and grabbed my hand, rubbing her thumb over it. "We can just cruise for a bit."

And we did, me, naked as the day I was born, reeling after the violations, and sticky with dried cum. I looked over at her. Her thighs writhed uncomfortably as she drove, and surely she was leaking something fierce under there as much as she'd drained me.

***************************************

"So, suffice it to say, Brooke, anal sex was the weirdest damn thing of my life." I really consider how normalized all this sex stuff is becoming to me. Logically, the act and uttering that sentence to my sister should be more equal in weirdness--but they are not.

Anal sex wins handily. With Brooke, the real Brooke not that Puritan cunt, I don't have the shame that I should.

Sis blows into my ear. "So? You ready for a cock, now, daddy-o?"

She's teasing, but I really ponder the question seriously. "...I don't think I would hate it, Brooke, like if I pretended it was Blair's or Sophie's or your fingers all over again, but also, I don't think I'd like it, either."

"Christ, that bitch is devious" is my sister's reply. She's not joking.

Bzz, bzz. Bzz, bzz. Sis's pocket vibrates. She pulls out her phone and chuckles.

She flips it around so I can read the last texts. Earlier it seems, Sis sent an absolutely scathing message to Blair for the Dixie cup thing. Oddly, Brooke didn't seem to mind the rest of the story. And Blair just sent back. 'I know, I know. Don't tell Sophie!!! Pls!!!! She won't forgive me for doin that to him. Like, whatever you want, srsly.'

Huh. I peek beyond Brooke.

Outside, I can tell that a pinkish twilight has replaced the sky, and not even my cheap curtains can fully stain that neon blaze. I brush Brooke's phone to the side and kiss her, really kiss her.

She kisses me back. All I see is red, impassioned.

Right after, Brooke looks around on the nightstand and over on my desk. "You got any tissues?"

"Uh, yeah." I roll across her and pull open a drawer on the nightstand, "I got a box a Kleenex in there."

She pulls a few out, reaches down between her legs, and squirms around. "What? Plugging my pussy."

Oh, makes sense. Then she crawls out of my bed, adjusts the tissues a bit, and I can tell she's leaving. Brian will wonder where she went, I suppose.

She has her life.

But as she grabs her Muriel onesie off the nightstand, I reach out and clasp her arm. "Brooke, I--I don't need you to be my lover or whatever. I just need..." The words come rough. "...when you're around, just don't be that stranger, okay?"

"Mason, I can't--"

I cut her off. "We don't don't need to fuck; we just don't need to be distant. I mean it. Hate me, or love me; I can't do lukewarm."

She forces a smile and stares somewhere far away. She speaks. Her words stutter at first, but then she's rambling away at full steam. "He bought us a house, twenty percent down on the mortgage. Loose HOA, just needs me to pull in the trash cans on Tuesdays or we get a fine, and no sagebrush in the gardens, that kind of thing. The neighbor is Tina, and she has two sons: Terry and Ramone, two different fathers. She helped me light our citronella candles last barbecue. Ted, the navy veteran from the pink house on the corner, made applesauce ribs on his smoker that night."

She rubs her arm. "I don't hate any of that, Mason. Makes me feel good, makes me feel like I'm a productive part of all of it."

"I'm happy for you." My smile is forced, but I do really try.

She tugs at her sweater. "I just fucking hate cardigans." That's what she says as she turns and leaves my bedroom, closing the door so quickly, it fans a breeze across my bare sticky skin.

That keeps happening: Me, sticky and naked, and them, gone. I can't decide if I'm incredibly lucky with the women in my life or just some sorry schmuck. Sex is good, but it's not that good, I don't think. I towel off another bout of secret sex and curl around the dissipating heat of my sister's body.