More Stories to Make You Blush (8 page)

Vincent was late. He chose his moments! She had told him clearly that tonight was important, that she had something to tell him. Why was he late?

To distract herself Brigitte turned on the TV to watch the six o'clock news. The newscaster was just reading the headlines:

“Armed robbery in a branch of the Midland Bank …” “Major drug bust at the airport …”

“A very well-known exotic dance club threatened with loss of its license …”

She only half watched the first two stories. The third made her heart skip a beat. She had been afraid the club in question would be Chez Pierre, the club where she regularly worked, but instead it was the city's best known male strippers club, whose owners were contesting city bylaws.

As she looked at the screen she saw one of the club's owners in company with a few “dancers,” one of whom was trying his best to avoid the camera. But the jaw, the hair, and the tan revealed as much as the face would have.

“I guess I'm not the only one who's got some explaining to do,” thought Brigitte, suddenly feeling so much calmer.

 

 

 

It was a weeknight and the bar was almost empty. I'd been in the city two days and didn't know anyone, not a single living soul I could share my recent happiness with. And I felt like having a drink to celebrate! I had been on cloud nine since the day before I left home. I was just starting to realize that you sometimes have to go through a rough patch to really appreciate the good things in life. I sat down comfortably at the heavy oak bar, leaning on my elbows, and patiently waiting to catch the eye of the sympathetic looking man working behind it. I didn't have to wait long. When he brought me my scotch, he noticed the glow on my face. He said it was nice to have such a happy looking customer for a change. He asked me what was up; I asked him how much time he had. Looking around the desolate bar a bit gloomily he said,

“All night!”

I couldn't resist; I got right to the point.

“Until last Wednesday I'd been suffering for eight months. Exactly 252 days—252 mornings, noons, evenings, and nights. Eight months and a few days of worry, and hell, and living with a feeling of unreality and total emptiness—thirty-six weeks of agony and existential crisis. Why, you ask? Because my best friend let me down. He'd been my friend forever. We spent the happiest moments of my teens and adult life together. He was my friend, my brother, almost a mentor. He was the one who introduced me to pleasures I can't even describe, and allowed me to explore them as much as I wanted. He was my moral support, the one I could always count on when times were tough, and he could always count on me. In fact, he took my loyalty so much for granted that he turned me into his toy, his slave. Without him I was nothing, I was worthless. I even wondered if I could really say I existed …”

“Your friend went away?”

“Went away? No, not at all. Because I'm talking about
him,
of course. The one who's been hanging between my legs since I was born and controlled me since my fifteenth birthday or so. My thing. My tool. My cock. My dick. My pistol.

“You see, the bugger didn't want to get up any more. I tried everything. I've known him awhile, you know, and I know the kind of thing that turns his crank. But even the juiciest situations left him totally indifferent. He just hung there, totally limp, not even daring to look me in the face. I reasoned with him, I sweet-talked him, but nothing worked. I stroked him, I played with him, I tickled him—nothing! I even tried to stimulate my brain which, despite all my beliefs to the contrary, is supposed to control the sex drive and send the right message down to our buddy, but still no luck.”

“Gee, I'm really sorry.”

The bartender had a funereal look on his face, even more than if I had been talking about a real friend who had actually died. He shivered with dread and asked me: “And it happened just like that? Without warning? Had it ever happened before?”

“It happened overnight. First time in my life. And I'd never wish it on anyone! If you want me to tell you about it.”

“Oh, yes! It's not the type of thing that's ever worried me personally, but I'm curious. A person can never learn enough about that type of thing!”

“You're right about that! Myself, I wouldn't have panicked so much if I'd heard anyone talk about it before. But where to begin?

“First, I'll tell you a bit about myself and what that wonderful organ meant to me before it, or some cruel destiny maybe, decided to play that dirty trick on me.

“For two years I've been with a stunning woman. At least I was with her until recently. She's three years older than me and very understanding, up to a point. And she's what I'd really call a knockout. So, this woman was the first I'd had a so-called stable relationship with. I mean, for two whole years I never slept with another woman and she didn't sleep with another man, at least as far as I know. That's about as close to true love as I've ever gotten. Before her, of course, I'd explored the various possibilities the female gender had to offer, with all its adorable qualities. I can even say I tried everything I wanted to try, with as many partners and as many types of women as I wanted.”

As I was saying these words the man who had been nodding understandingly up until then, gave me a look of the deepest respect.

“You see, I revere women as a species, whether they're blonde, brunette, redheaded, or even going gray, tall, short, thin or chubby; all women hold a mystery that every man, with a bit of skill and luck, should try and uncover.”

“I couldn't agree with you more. So tell me, have you uncovered any good mysteries you'd like to share?”

“I've got hours and hours of stories! But the best … No, wait … Ah, yes! There was the time I got a very sophisticated massage from the hands of two pretty Oriental women. I say “hands,” but actually it was their entire body. Picture this: they covered me with almond oil, then started sliding over me like eels, one in front, the other in back. I saw hands everywhere—between my buttocks, over my cock, around my waist, in my hair—and their tongues slid into every corner. It was divine—just imagine! You'd have thought they were competing to see who could give me more pleasure. They were both tiny and delicate. After sucking, licking, and groping whichever one of them was closest, I got to go inside them, one after the other. They were so small they almost choked my cock, but I wasn't complaining! I penetrated one while making the other come with my hands, then they traded places. I barely had time to see the face of the one I'd just mounted before the other took her place. And then when I was ready to explode, one would sit on my face and force me to lick her as hard as I could, while the other one tenderly massaged me so I could get my strength back and hold on awhile longer. Finally, when she felt I was ready, she sucked me like mad. Then the game began again. I could barely make out whose mouth or pussy was wrapped around my cock. I don't know how I did it, but it lasted for hours. What sweet memories! What incredible pleasures! My skin smelled like almonds for weeks after....”

The bartender let out a low whistle of admiration, then said:

“Maybe I got married too young; do you have other stories?”

“Oh, yes. I was in my heyday then. ”

I was quiet for a few moments, trying to remember. Suddenly, Simone sprung to mind.

“I'll never forget Simone—hard and mean Simone. She took me to her dungeon where there was a poor naked girl, tied up and gagged. Simone was dressed like a real torture queen, whip in hand. She chained me up, too. First, she amused herself by shoving her hand, then the whip handle, inside that poor girl. I was fascinated by the whip going into her and how much it turned Simone on. She made her come several times this way, and I was really suffering. Then Simone untied me and ordered me to make love to the girl while she masturbated. There was no way I could refuse! I did what she told me to do, without balking. The poor girl was completely soaked and I pushed into her hard, like Simone wanted me to. I ploughed her as hard as I could, while watching my Mistress. Her hand rubbed back and forth across her shaved pussy between whip lashes, and from time to time, to reward me, she gave me a few, little well-placed strokes. It wasn't too painful, and the victim was utterly delectable. She was totally passive and endured her punishment without complaining, while Simone forced me inside her by every means and into every orifice possible. No one said no to Simone! When she felt the girl had suffered enough, she ordered me to make her, Simone, come with the whip handle. I obeyed her to the word, knowing she was totally unpredictable. When she'd had enough of this instrument of lust, she told me to enter her. I was still all slippery from the other woman's love juice. The girl watched me go with regret, begging me with her eyes to stay. Simone took pity on her. She went to the girl, allowed her to fondle her breasts and kiss her, while I penetrated her—first with the whip handle, then with my fine-tuned cock. Simone had become the victim.”

“You're joking!”

“No, I'm serious! I can still feel the whip burns on my back.”

“Where does this Simone live?”

“I can give you her number, but I can't guarantee anything!”

The bartender was looking at me with downright reverence. Obviously, he admired me as much as he envied me. I continued, “I almost forgot the time I found myself rolling around on a waterbed with my cock wedged between two huge breasts. They were truly gigantic! While her companion ploughed her without mercy from behind, she sucked me or rubbed her huge knockers around my dick. She pressed them against each other, making me a prisoner in a tunnel of silky flesh. When I came, her whole face was soaked.”

“Okay, enough! I believe you! Don't tell me more; it's getting painful!”

“Okay, okay. I never saw any of them again. I was just trying to demonstrate that my cock has never been shy. It's been lucky enough to do things that other men just dream about.”

“You can say that again!”

“Anyway, to continue my story, like a lot of guys I discovered sex at around the age of eight. My second grade teacher was a tall redhead with glasses, who always wore very short skirts. She had legs that went on forever, inflaming the imaginations of all the boys in the class. I don't really remember my first erection, but my first ejaculation is very clear in my memory. It was a Sunday afternoon and I discovered my eighteenyear-old sister getting dressed. She was standing in front of the mirror, totally naked, and was touching one of her breasts almost nonchalantly. Seeing her like that I got a magnificent erection. But it was when she spread her legs and touched herself lower down that I suddenly felt my pants get all sticky. From that day on my life took on a new dimension. I'd reached sexual maturity; well, maybe that's an exaggeration! Let's say my organs were mature, for the sake of accuracy.”

My new friend gave me a conspiratorial wink.

“From that day on like all young boys I explored my fantasies with innocent little tricks … like trying to see under the dresses of our little friends, or watching the woman next door undress. Nothing special or original, but still, for a precocious teenager, it opened the door to a number of possibilities.

“But back to the woman I shared my life with until recently, Eve. It was with her, but not because of her— at least I don't think so—that my sufferings began. The first time it didn't seem like anything to worry about. We'd had a bit too much to drink; I had a good excuse. But at dawn, to make up for lost time, I started stroking the warm body in bed next to me. I wasn't hard-enough-to-explode like I usually am in the morning. That should've been a warning. But I convinced myself that the slightest reaction from Eve would bring my member springing to life and ready for action. Except, well, she woke up, stretching like a cat, licking her lips with an enticing little smile, but as for my member—nothing doing. To my great distress it refused to take any initiative and remained sound asleep. I could not believe my balls! What was going on down there? I was quite excited otherwise. My brain, even though it wasn't totally awake, should have been sending the right signals. But nothing was happening. At first Eve just looked at my limp dick in amazement. That's understandable, because this had never happened before! She smiled nicely and bent over me, caressing my neck with little laps of her tongue, then my nipples, my ribs, and my groin. “Oof!” I said to myself. I was almost scared for a second. I was sure this familiar treatment would fix everything. Eve's mouth got to my cock and totally engulfed it. I closed my eyes, letting nature take its course. A few moments later, Eve raised her tousled head and stared at me. She asked me what was going on. She didn't look so much worried, as scornful. I told her firmly that things were just fine, but she got up and went to take a shower.

“I was in shock. I tried to imagine her body in the shower, her skin all slippery with soap. That should've done the trick. I thought of going to join her, soaping up a froth between her thighs, then taking her hard from behind. That sort of vision always woke up the warrior in me. But this time it was no use.

“Hearing Eve turn off the faucets, I pretended to be asleep. I admired her as she walked across the room, naked and streaming. She got dressed slowly, bra, matching panties, silk stockings, skirt, blouse, jacket, and finally shoes. Usually, this drove me wild. The clothes she wore to work were enough to make my pole stand straight up in my pants. But not that morning. Nothing could be done. After Eve left I seized the traitor roughly, forcing him to look me in the eye, and berated him. The episode left me flabbergasted. Empty. Completely drained. You can understand, can't you? But still I took it all with a grain of salt and told myself it was a one-time thing and wouldn't happen again.” “But that wasn't the case?”