Wednesday, April 18, 2007

HUSTLER LETTERS

PERFECT PERFECTIONIST
Forty-five minutes before closing time I looked around and saw lovebirds tucked into booths, crusty regulars lined up at the bar, band groupies swaying and gyrating on the dance floor, and tons of schmucks just like me. Fuck, I was horny. The prospect of pussy was really the only reason I’d gone out that evening.
Guess I wasn’t alone. The ratio of guys to girls in the club was like three-to-one. Since Irene dumped me, I’d endured two months of miserable, self-imposed, pathetic celibacy. Tonight I was finally ready to end it, and so far I hadn’t met anyone. I was desperate.
Then I saw her, mixing drinks behind the back bar, setting up shot after shot. She had long, honey-blond hair and an angel’s smile, delicate shoulders topping curves stacked on top of curves. I imagined her big, lush titties wrapped around my throbber and kind of got lost in her cleavage for a minute. When I looked up, she was staring back at me. “Last call,” she announced, but what I heard was, “Fuck me!”
With single-minded devotion, I stuck to my barstool till closing time, chatting the beauty up and watching her work. And I noticed the way she worked: methodically lining up the glasses from tall to small, exactly the same amount in every single shot, never a spill. Anyway, I got lucky. By the time the lights came on, she’d agreed to come home with me.
During the trip, Kelli brought up what she called her obsessive-compulsive disorder, telling me how she always had to do the same thing the same way—her way— over and over till she got it perfect. She said it applied to everything: bartending, exercising…“Even cocksucking!” she added with a smile. I pressed down on the gas till I was doing 60 in a 35.
Inside my apartment, Kelli immediately took over, dropping to her knees on the living room floor. In seconds my pants and briefs were puddled around my ankles, and she was kissing her way up my leg, inch by inch—32 kisses, she told me later—till her swirling tongue reached my ball sac and went to town. My pecker was reaching for my belly button by the time she sucked one fat nad into her mouth and gently nursed on it. I closed my eyes as Kelli moved from one jewel to the other, nibbling, lapping, sucking. Soon she had a fist stroking my hard-on and a finger teasing my anus. Damn, this girl was good!
I was going to come if Kelli didn’t stop. In fact, I was about to nudge the chick back when I remembered what she’d said about needing to do things her way. I stopped, and my patience was rewarded. A minute later her tongue traced a trail up my shaft, stopping only to dip into my piss slit. My eyes opened again to the sight of Kelli gazing up at me as she let long strands of spittle drizzle all over my cock. Fuck!
Slowly, slowly the gorgeous blonde sucked my crown between her lips and then the shaft, inch by inch. Every few seconds she stopped, her cheeks hollowed with suction, her hands nimbly squeezing my teabags. Oh, I’d experienced good blowjobs before, but nothing like this. Everything Kelli did seemed calculated, to keep me on the edge. As soon as my rod was totally engulfed, a wiggling finger went to work on my butt again while her mouth worked its magic.
It seemed to take forever, an eternity of bliss, for her BJ to build enough speed to match the rhythm of her ass-frigging. As soon as they were in sync, she jammed a finger in deep, tickling my prostate till I experienced the climax of a lifetime!
Incredibly attentive, Kelli licked my equipment squeaky-clean before standing up and asking, “So how was that?”
I thought about what she’d said earlier about doing the same thing over and over, her way, till she got it perfect, and I struggled to keep my voice steady as I answered, “It was…okay.”
With the same angelic smile I’d seen at the bar, Kelli immediately dropped to her knees and began kissing her way from my ankles to my ball sac.
—T.F.
Algoma Mills, ON
SEX BUZZ
Jon’s long, thick cock stood fully erect. Fat and beautiful, it glistened with my spit. I took one last loving lick from his nut sac all the way up to his piss slit. Then I crawled on top of the boy, rubbing my titties, my belly, my fuzz on his shaft before finally guiding his dick cap between my labes. Mmmm. Damn, that felt good! His slammer filled me up completely. It was bigger and better than any I’d ever had. Then again, in my 22 years I’d only had three, but still…
We were crammed into the back camper shell of a pickup truck, with Jon’s friend Alan behind the wheel, driving us back from Canada. Every time that pickup hit a bump, my head hit the top of the camper shell, Jon’s dick hit my clit, and sparks exploded in my pussy.
I’d only met Jon two days earlier. I’d been thumbing and bumming across Canada for a couple of months—my college graduation present to myself—and Jon and Allen had picked me up over by Ottawa. It wasn’t until we were about half an hour from the border at Niagara that I found out about the hashish the boys had stowed in the side panels. Stupid fucks. That’s what my head said, but for some reason, the danger turned my body on, made my cunt gush like the fuckin’ falls.
Up till now my life had been completely sedate, totally boring: Catholic girls’ school, followed by some tiny backwoods religious college my parents had found, straight-A student, president of the debate club. Boring! If only my parents could see me now.
Ten minutes from the border, Jon was suckling on one of my titty buds, his fat fuckstick jamming into my quim. I was so close. I could feel the climax welling up in me. Then, all of a sudden, whack! Jon’s hand landed hard on my ass. “Fuck, yes, Jon, spank me! I’m such a bad girl!” Well, I wanted to be a bad girl. His palm landed again and again, one butt cheek, then the other, then my ass crack. I could feel my flesh burn red-hot. Still, he didn’t let up. Smack, smack, smack! And I was coming all over his big cock, my girl jizz streaming over his nut sac. Whack! Jon didn’t stop, and my orgasm went multiple! Who knew sex could be this fuckin’ good?!
I was seriously delirious—moaning, crying out, pounding his chest. My hot pussy clutched his jackhammer over and over till suddenly the boy went rigid, and I felt his warm semen splash deep inside me.
That’s when the camper door was flung open, and we blinked against the sunlight, into the eyes of a customs official. He blinked back at a couple of naked kids fucking right in front of him. I don’t know—maybe this was all a part of Jon’s plan—to distract the powers-that-be from the drugs.
I guess it worked, ’cause that customs official just asked us the usual citizenship and purpose-of-visit questions, made us dig out our passports and sent us on our merry way. The whole time he was smirking, probably thinking about the story he was going to tell his wife that night, about the sex it might inspire. My heart was pounding in my throat. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt quite so scared, exhilarated and alive—all at the same time!
Jon and I celebrated with a big bowl of hashish, a little pussy-licking and a blowjob. I had never been a fan of 69ing. I’d always found both sex acts at once too distracting. But that day—and maybe it was the hash buzz—everything slowed down enough for me to concentrate on every single cock-lick, enjoy every single clit-flick. We took our time, lapping and licking all the way to Buffalo. Jon climaxed once—I rocketed over the top three more times!
I said goodbye to the boys at the Greyhound depot, and we promised to e-mail. Then I climbed aboard the bus and sank back into my seat for some sweet, much-needed sleep.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m definitely not suggesting smuggling to anyone! And I’m sure as fuck not crazy enough to try it again, but I’m so glad I did it once. It was dangerously exciting. Fact is, I’m masturbating as I write this. Hope you are too.
—F.A.
Salt Springs, NS
GROPES ON THE SLOPES
My weekend trip to Banff, Alberta, was unforgettable. Being confined to a wheelchair due to a recent forklift accident, I insisted on not going, but my friends Les and Wood wouldn’t take no for an answer. They agreed that I’d find something to do. Our wake-up call rang at 8 a.m. Saturday morning, and fresh powder carpeted the hills. While my buddies headed out for an early snowboard run, I sat above the slopes, checking out the view. What I saw was an awe-inspiring pair of white mountains that belonged to Inez, the lodge’s groundskeeper.
“Mornin’!” I nodded in her direction, hoping she’d respond. She was crammed into a pair of tan Dickies that proudly hugged her vivacious rump. Her workman shirt was unbuttoned halfway, exposing deep, creamy cleavage that made me as hard as an icicle. I was mesmerized. All I could think about was titty-fucking her and spraying my nut curd all over those babies. “You must be cold stiff,” she said, interrupting my daydream but, thankfully, acknowledging my presence. Still in a daze, I smiled, not realizing that she was referring to the tent pitched on my lap. By the time I figured out what the observant smart-ass meant, she was behind my gimpmobile, pushing me toward a huge pine tree. “Uh, what are you doing?” I inquired, like an idiotic schoolboy. “You need to be warmed up,” the curly-haired brunette quipped. She stared at me with her big, green, Bambilike eyes, waiting for my comeback. An unwitty, “Definitely” was all I could spit out.
As soon as I was parked, the ski lodge seductress pulled down her khakis and climbed aboard my chair, placing her knees on the armrests. She gently laid her snatch on my mouth while her fragrant bush flooded my nostrils. The horny ginch grinded her hips slowly, which then progressed to her gyrating in a circular motion. By this time, my entire face was masked in her caramel-flavored punani sauce. I looked up to enjoy the view of her perfectly round and erect nipples, which were just as hard as my salami. I extended both hands to massage her milky tits; she moaned with pleasure. The fat-racked beauty’s melons felt unbelievably fuckable, which made me want to nestle my schwang between them even more.
My momentary daydream came to a halt when the sopping-wet broad slowly turned, giving me a chance to tongue-fuck her out hole. I salivated like a starved heifer at a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop. The primo snow bunny stuck her fulsome ass cheeks in my face, practically burying my entire head between them. I didn’t mind, mostly because she was the nurturing type of bitch: She reached back, gently pressing and carressing my noggin deeper into her heinie’s crack. Using the second-strongest muscle in my body, I licked and prodded her bum spigot with full concentration, rimming her sphincter in a spiral pattern. The excitable cutie squirmed with delight aloft my happy face and tossed her tresses about, priming me for the booby-fuck of my life.
The sex-crazed nympho slid off my grill and turned around. The bare-assed sex goddess pulled down my pants, uncovering my veiny lap mallet. This clever fox knew the art of deception: She worked her plummy pudenda up and down my shaft, making me believe she was going to plunder it with her baby hole. After she had slickened my snake, the big-teated tease bent down and squeezed her lungs together tightly, creating the most inviting chest ventage I’ve ever seen. The booby-fuck specialist carefully inserted my dong and moved up and down steadily; her sweater meat massaged my aching scrotum pole like 1,000 warm, tiny fingers. The praiseworthy slattern encouraged my excitement with a big smile. My prick throbbed in anticipation of the blast to come, but I wanted to enjoy the best breast sex of my life a little longer. After 15 minutes of titty tobagganing, the thirsty slut picked up speed, bouncing up and down faster, till I could hold it no more. Guiding her mouth directly over my swizzle stick, I urgently jettisoned my ball ballast, sending shivers up my broken spine. The salacious groundskeeper quaffed down every drop; she even sucked the remaining dollops off my wee-wee.
After our satisfying sexcapade, the stacked trollop wheeled me back to where we met and went back to work as if nothing happened. I am glad I decided to go on this trip, and I had to thank my friends for insisting that I tag along. Although I didn’t get to snowboard with Les and Wood, I sure enjoyed slopes of a better kind.
—J.D.
Fort Macleod, AB

No comments: