J Long: The town sluts

Wendell said: "Carlotta, may I talk to you, er, in my office?"

Carlotta spat out her Dentyne, put away the Gillette, stood up and straightened out the wrinkles in her crepe miniskirt and frizzy cardigan sweater.

"D'ya want me to take dictation?"

"Er, yeah. Bring your steno pad, please."

Fucking a pencil behind her Chanelish ear, Carlotta bent over and searched her desk for the steno pad.

Wendell liked the view of her bending over trying to find the steno pad. Because he had a very good mental image of her tits that looked like some gargantuan fruit, and he had already seen her cunt because the miniskirt covered her pussy about as adequately as a lei, and because she didn't own a pair of panties.

But this was the first time that he had seen her ass. Very nice ass. The type of ass that gay guys wish their macho partners had. The cheeks looked very ripe and firm. The meat on those asscheeks looked more like cushions that God had blessed her with so she could absorb all those ass-pounding fucks she enjoyed.

Then Carlotta said: "Ah, here's the little fucking bugger. Right on my desk. Shit, that's really dumb of me, don't you think, Mr. Rathers?"

Wendell didn't know if he was capable of thinking then. He had been so enraptured by that cushiony ass that thinking was beyond him. Just like his cock – it was already beyond him, beyond the elastic of his shorts and making a very big wad-like bulge at his crotch.

Carlotta noticed his bulge. Because she always looked at men's crotches.

"Ya gotta hard-on, don't you, Mr. Rathers?"

"Huh?"

"Ya gotta hard-on, I said. Probably 'cause you saw me shaving my cunt and bending over and taking a real gander at my ass. Isn't that right, Mr. Rathers?"

Was that fight? Or was it wrong? Well, she was right that he had a hard-on. And she was right about shaving her pussy in the office and bending over and exposing her cushiony ass. But somehow things didn't feel right to Wendell. He felt wrong – like she shouldn't be talking like that, or shaving her pussy in the office, or showing off her ass to the boss. Right?

"You're wrong if you think you gotta hard-on 'cause of my showing you my ass and shaving my cunt in the office."

"Huh?" Jesus, something was wrong here. "I don't know what to say. I think you're wrong about…"

"I'm fight. You're wrong. You have a hard-on 'cause you wanna fuck me. Or because you wanna see me chew your cock like I chew my gum. Isn't that fight, Mr. Rathers?"

Wendell was ready to say wrong; he was ready to shake his head.

He shook his head, but he said: "Right, but…"

"See, I'm right, Mr. Rathers. I knew I was right. It wasn't because of you seeing my ass or cunt that gave you a hard-on. It was because you wanted to fuck me, or you wanted me to blow your cock."

"But wait a minute, here. I'm…"

"Wrong," Carlotta cut in, adjusting one of her see-through bra straps. "So what's wrong with wanting to fuck or have me suck your cock? Right?"

"But…"

"Hey," Carlotta interjected. "I know what it is now!"

"I got it!" Carlotta blurted. "You wanted to fuck my ass! You're an ass man! So my ass did turn you on. Right?"

"You know how I figured you to be an ass man?" Carlotta interrupted again. "'Cause you're always saying 'but' a lot. Jesus, you don't have to be afraid that you're queer or something because you want to fuck my ass."

"But…"

"Come on," Carlotta said, taking him by the hand and leading him to his office. "No more buts. Put your mouth where your cock is. Let's hit the dirt road! Up the chocolate mountain! Shit, I haven't been buggered since my brother fucked my ass."

"What? Who fucked your ass?"

"My brother. What's wrong with letting your brother fuck you in the ass? At least I can't get pregnant that way. Right?"

"Yeah… er, I think so."

Now they were in Wendell's plush office. They were on the couch. Well, most of Carlotta Bender was on the couch because she had slipped out of the lei miniskirt and she had shucked the cardigan sweater.

Wendell was half on the couch and half off. He was also half hard and half soft, and he also thought he was half crazy – or maybe she was half crazy. He had never met a woman like Carlotta, never seen a girl so blatantly truthful in all his life.

To a reverend, Carlotta would have been considered a very gross girl. For wearing perfume all over her body, and shaving her cunt hairs in public, and letting her boss see her asshole.

To a welfare worker, Carlotta would have been classified as one of those poor-white-trash mothers who greet welfare workers at the door in expensive Magnin dresses while her twelve kids live in a sloppy shoebox of a home.

To a rising executive like Wendell Rathers, Carlotta looked divinely delicious, grossly overrated as a secretary and grossly underrated as a whore.

Carlotta was on the couch on all fours, her tits swinging like hanging lemons. Her fingers were in her cunt, moving very blurry-like over her clit and the lips and all that hair. Her cunt made very sloppy noises as she finger-fucked herself.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Then she did something quite shocking. Or at least a man of the cloth would have found it to be very shocking. Her middle finger, which had been in her cunt, was moving up from the front hole to the back hole.

And, as Wendell watched in awe, her finger went into the back hole, disappeared up her rectum as if her asshole were a mouth and it was chewing on her middle finger.

But Wendell knew her asshole wasn't her mouth because he heard her voice come from the other end of her body: "Jesus, Mr. Rathers! You act like you never seen anybody finger their own asshole. It feels… uh, kind of horny. You know what I mean?"

Wendell's prick lurched. His body lurched. He felt like the Hulk meeting the Lurch. He lurched because he had never seen a woman go bowling with her ass – never saw a woman take a bowling-ball grip on her bottom.

The reason why she had a bowling-ball grip was very obvious to Carlotta. Because it felt kind of horny. And it also felt good to thumb-fuck her clit while her middle finger was in her asshole.

"Well, Mr. Rathers, aren't you ready to fuck yet? I see you still got your hard-on."

A chick would have to be Helen Keller to miss something as obvious as the tent that Wendell had erected at the crotch of his pants. Yeah, he had a hard-on all right. A big fat hard-on, the kind of hard-on made for fucking into something as tight as a hot chick's asshole.

While Carlotta maintained the bowling-ball grip on her two holes, her other hand found his zipper tab.

Zzzziiiiiiiiiipppppp!

Booooiiinnnnggggg!

The metal mouth of his zipper yawned open and out came something that did not look like a tongue. Unless tongues were now being made to look like blunt-headed spears with hair sprouting near the handle.

And speaking of handles, that's what Carlotta did with Wendell's erection. Handled it with care. Handled it as if his cock were made of china.

Then she became a man handler. Roughly stripping the loose foreskin up and over the meaty glans. Then re-stripping it again and again.

Wendell watched in amazement as her expert cock-handling manipulated all the loose flesh of his prick until none of the loose flesh was loose any more.

His prick was now brick hard, bone stiff, barrel big and ready to be blown.

Ready to be blown?

Yep, that's what Carlotta did. With amazing grace she was transformed from a man handler to a cock-cannibal.

Ooooooooh, that tongue! Those lips! That mouth! Those teeth!

Teeth? "Aaaaiiieeeeee! My cock! Please don't bite my cock so hard!"

Carlotta looked up at Wendell with her mouth full of prick. Then she didn't have the mouthful of prick, she had a mouthful of words: "All right, that'll teach you to quit fucking around and start fucking my asshole. You asshole-fucker – I know guys like you. Scared to fuck a chick's asshole because you're scared you're gay. I know lots of guys like you. You'll love fucking my asshole. Now come on and move around behind me and shove your cock up my ass!"